The first symptom of stress is often mild insomnia – an onslaught of thoughts at 3am, which seize the defenceless, semi-wakeful moment and prevent one from turning over and relaxing back into rest.  At least that’s how it is for me.  Shakespeare, as ever, knew all about it:  think of Lady Macbeth, of Henry IV, or of the love-lorn protagonist of Sonnet 27:

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expir’d:
For then my thoughts—from far where I abide—
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.

Often I can’t do much about the stress, but I find I can do something about the wakefulness.  I turn to something auditory, something to listen to.  It needs to be interesting and enjoyable, so as to engage my attention.  Then 90% of the time, as soon as I become absorbed in the story, I relax, and know no more until the morning.  The other 10% – well, the story is interesting and enjoyable.  It’s far better than lying awake worrying.

So my last few months have been graced by the BBC radio dramatisation of Trollope’s Barchester Chronicles.  This is a beautiful adaptation, with the joys of Stephen Moore as the pompous archdeacon, Rosemary Leach as insufferable Mrs Proudie, David Haig as vacillating cleric Mark Robarts, and Kenneth Cranham outstanding as one of Trollope’s most interesting and richly drawn characters, Josiah Crawley.  And, especially for me, Simon Russell Beale as the unctuous Rev. Slope and Alex Jennings as the fallen idol Adolphus Crosbie.  I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed it – the only problem being that the effect of listening to it has been so swiftly calming and relaxing that it took weeks and weeks to get through the whole thing.

Finally the endpapers were reached, and I needed something new.  This time I went for a straight audiobook – moving from the soft drugs of a multi-voiced dramatisation to mainlining 100% unadulterated Alex Jennings, reading Nicholas Nickleby.  It has so brought home to me how much is added to the text by a talented intelligent reader.  Those who know me well may suggest that my devotion to Alex affects my judgement – I would counter by saying it is my judgement which informs my devotion.  Go listen – listen to how each and every character is unique, richly drawn and individually voiced, and how his narration is infused with fine details of interpretation and expression.  It is such an intelligent and skillful reading.  Listening to a book being read is a slower process than reading oneself and so the narrative drive is diminished – instead, there is a moment’s breath to attend to the glorious details with which Dickens abounds.

My children’s rooms used to be filled with the low murmurings of Stephen Fry recounting the events at Hogwarts.  Indeed, at times they still are.  I am so grateful that these hugely talented actors make these recordings:  I don’t imagine it is a sphere in which there is much acclaim, and it must be a strangely solitary occupation.  But in the still small hours of the morning, it is perfect.