10pm – As I start to cosy down (in my lovely new pyjamas), I see a wiggle of the curtains. I closed them earlier in the hope that my singing-out-loud neighbour would stop telling me about “her music” and “ginger biscuits topped with butter and sugar” that she had stolen from the staff kitchen. Unfortunately I didn’t realise that the way I had shut the curtain had exposed the “evil red privacy” label so that she was forced to “get it out of her sight”. “I don’t like the colour red or the number 6” she tells me. “Bad things might happen”. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to feel a little unsettled at this point.
11.00pm – I have been advised to drink lots of water. And I did. All day. Gallons of it. I don’t think I need to explain why I woke up this time, or the other 25 times during the night
12.00 midnight – The lovely nurse who is keeping an eye on us tonight thought it would be a good idea to wake me up to ask me what my height is in metres. At bloody midnight. I am speechless. And tired. And awake. And pissed off.
12.30am – I am still awake and now my biscuity neighbour is snoring like she has a ginger nut biscuit stuck in her throat and at least a few crumbs in each nostril.
1.30am – I wake up and randomly start thinking about my tax return. I’ve known about it since April. And I’ve still got till January, but it now seems really important at this ungodly hour.
2.30am – Soon it will be time to be woken up again. Please go to sleep.
3.00am – Come on Lynne. You’re a yoga teacher. Breathe woman, breathe.
I wish I was asleep.