INTERRUPTED SLEEP, AND MORE STORYTELLING

I don't know what that was all about. I need to sleep better.

As it was, I woke up several times during the night - sometime after three, again at four-thirty, and finally, early, at ten to six, with the sunlight and the interminable alarm.

In the middle one, in the dusky smalls of 4:30am, I reached for my water bottle, half-asleep, uncapped it, and then accidentally poured it all over my face. I sat bolt upright, gasping and spluttering as the water stung my nostrils.

Part of the reason for writing lousily about caterpillars is that I'd like to get better at storytelling. On the way to work today, I practised telling myself another of my favourite stories - the story of Stone Soup, and got all in a muddle right in the middle. Who would want to listen to me losing confidence when I get to the bit about the traveller suggesting vegetables to add to the broth and the widow racing off to find them?

There's a lot to be said for pacing, for understanding drama, and the twists and reveals.

I am tired though, today, thanks to that interrupted sleep and my subconscious attempt to drown myself in my water bottle. At around 11:30 this morning I realised I was wearing my shirt inside out.