1732: The Overnighter

Just got back from an incredibly long day at work — effectively two days at work for the price of one, thanks to some overnight working as well as my normal shift. Consequently, I’m utterly knackered, so you’ll forgive any incoherence and/or typos, I hope. (I do get tomorrow off, at least; I intend to do a lot of sleeping after I have finished typing this.)

I don’t mind pulling late/all-nighters generally, because it allows me to indulge in one of my stranger pleasures: being in places that are normally full of people when they are deserted.

It’s something that’s always fascinated me, ever since I was a youngling and often got the opportunity to stay late at school to do various music activities. School concert night was always a particular highlight; not only did I tend to enjoy the concert itself, but there was something… I don’t know, almost romantic about the atmosphere around the school campus when it was all but deserted aside from a few people.

In fact, I’ve always enjoyed the night generally. When out walking in the darkness, there’s always the slight lingering fear that behind the next bush might be a knife-wielding maniac, of course, but for the most part I love the atmosphere of night-time: the peace and quiet; the way the air feels somehow different — probably because it’s not being churned up and polluted by hundreds of cars; the way everything feels like it’s going slightly faster than normal; the way bad weather, particularly snow, makes you feel like the place you’re in is a private little world.

It’s the peace and quiet part that gets me the most, I think, because it allows you to really drink in what is going on around you. You can listen to your footsteps as you walk; listen to your breathing; hear the birds start to sing to signal the beginning of the “morning” process (at least if you stay up as late as I have tonight); try to work out what the noises in the distance might be. Any sound near you feels almost infinitely louder, and hearing someone talking always feels like you’re intruding on a private moment. (Perhaps you are.)

It’s the contrast, too; I love comparing how a deserted place in the dead of night compares to how I know it is in the daytime. By day, it might be bustling hub of activity, with the constant noise of human interaction all around at all times. By night, it might be totally silent; you might be the only person there. There’s a sense of being in the unknown; of being somewhere “forbidden”, even if you have every right to be wherever you are.

In fact, were it possible to live one’s life in a more nocturnal manner, I think I’d happily do so. Judging by my drive back from work tonight, it would certainly save on traffic frustrations, if nothing else!