Partly because I finished The Children's Book this afternoon on the way home from work. Although I should be quite pleased, because it lasted until the stop before mine which was excellent timing.
So now I am thinking about parenting and sentimentality and expectations and the things we steal from each other whether its deliberate or not. By which I mean our attitudes and beliefs and hopes and dreams rather than bar mats.
When I was a lassie, perhaps just starting high school, my dearly loved Dad said to me that it was lucky that people like him and me did not want to become singers and go on television talent shows and embarrass ourselves by singing badly in front of other people. Despite a lifetime of casual insults from other people, and many other oddly hurtful remarks from those who love me, that one sticks in my mind as a terrible moment of pain as well as disillusion. I can laugh at myself now, but it's only a very recent thing. For years and years it has hurt whenever it has come back into my mind. Partly because I do so love to sing, and it pains me that my singing pains other people instead of giving them the same pleasure that it gives me.
If I was AS Byatt I would take this feeling and do a bit or a lot of research and write a sharp novella or a 600 page dragging-you-down-into-the-sea novel about it all.
But since it's me I won't.
And maybe I can't quite forgive AS Byatt today, but I'm sure I'll be back on the horse again tomorrow.