W.S. Gilbert knew what it was like.
When you’re lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo’d by anxiety,
Iconceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety;
[From Iolanthe, 1882]
That was me last night. After passing a wonderful (not) day on the sofa in front of the fan. I dragged myself off to bed at around 21.30, only to lie there, head thumping despite the Depon, nose bunged despite the Ronal, and a few other remedies knocking about inside, and I lay there. And lay there. And turned, and lay there, and finally dozed off, and woke up again more or less straight away, because the fan had gone off. A power cut. So I got up and sat on the balcony for a while, and stared at the stars, and went back to bed, and finally must have dozed off again around midnight, only to wake again at one, one-thirty, two-twelve, and all stops south until I gave up at 4.30.
Nothing better than cold water when you’re dry and bunged, and the experience is enhanced with a vitamin C tablet in it, all followed by a ‘nice cup of tea.’
One of the reasons I find it hard to sleep sometimes isn’t to do with the body crying out for a rest, it’s to do with the mind waking up just when I don’t want it to. Last night, after watching the stars, I went back to bed thinking, ‘It’s all very well these rich people buying holiday homes they only use a few weeks of the year. It’s all very well local authorities allowing great big new complexes to be built, but not insisting a percentage of them are used for social housing or rent, and it’s all very well having your fancy dinners and smart hotels, and mansion houses, but we’re all in the same darkness when the power goes off.’
I really wasn’t in a good mood.
