NOTES FROM AN INSOMNIAC

Man alive, I'm tired. I've been awake since 1am, my mind racing with stuff I couldn't dispel any further than the darkness. I also discovered a stupidly addictive game, which grabbed me between 3am and 4am, just as I had given up trying to drop off.

The birds were chirping long before the sun came up. You know by then that it's already too late to sleep without feeling worse, so you keep yourself awake. All of this means of course, that today I feel like my body's going to implode at any minute and my eyes might pop out of their sockets and roll across the desk.

How I'm going to survive eight hours of this I do not know. I've got a pack of blueberries, some chocolate buttons and a can of sugar-free Red Bull. I might even be desperate enough for an espresso a bit later - though to be honest I'd rather drink the washing-up water.

"Do you think maybe you need medical advice," asked Steve in the kitchen, "You know, if this keeps happening?"

I have pondered it. There wasn't really any reason at all for being awake through the night, though it hasn't happened for a while. What brought it on? I'd had a glass of wine and a deep conversation, but that was hours beforehand! I heard some sad news too last night, but I don't think even that was enough to keep me up.

I have a few tactics for dealing with insomnia. I don't have the right kind of mind for counting sheep, so a while ago I started over-complicating it in my head. The idea is to focus on something which distracts you completely from the fact that you're awake and fed up, exhausting your brain and grinding your thinking engine into a system reboot.

So I started playing alphabet games: think of girls names with three letters, Bible characters, palindromes, one-word film titles, famous authors, things you'd find in the kitchen... beginning with each letter of the alphabet. I'd invariably get stuck around J or K and be asleep in no time.

Not this time.

Then there's milk. Milk seems to help. I got up, padded through the kitchen in my bare feet, swung open the fridge door and stood there illuminated in the glow like the dressing-gown-clad Emperor of Fridgeworld. No milk. It was in the freezer. Call me old-fashioned but I (and my imperial teeth) prefer my milk chilled and liquid.

Sometimes, the garden helps. I've sat out there by the washing line a few times, hoping that the cool breeze will regulate my temperature and send me scurrying back to the cosy warmth of the duvet. Somehow, last night, it just woke me up even further. The trees were whispering, the clouds were hurrying over, dark and orange and the air was peppered with tiny spots of rain. Invigorating, yes; soporific, not so much.

Another thing I've tried is listening to the Bible. The YouVersion audio Bible's great. A sort of polished Patrick-Stewart-Soundalike rumbles through the Old Testament, reeling off the genealogies and names as though it's inspection day on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. The only trouble is, the narrator can only get through ten chapters at a time - and last night, ten chapters just wasn't enough to push me the way of Noah. Plus my phone ran out of battery.

So here I am, struggling to remember that my name has two Ts in it and that next month is not April, while my colleague suspects I need medical help.

I think actually, I just need a good night's sleep.