Today

Shocking night last night. We climbed into bed at about 11.30, between freshly laundered linen sheets and settled down. I read a bit of my book, turned out the light and turned to my favourite position. For once it wasn't too hot. Soon, Paul started snoring. I tried various techniques to get off to sleep, but no good. Funny noises abounded. Had Abby actually gone downstairs or was she prowling about in the spare room? (Strictly forbidden!) Were those little clicking noises inside the room or outside?

Got up at 1.00 to visit the bathroom. Demanded (and got) a cuddle from the comatose Paul. Tried again, on my left side. Felt hungry. Got up at 2.45 to visit the bathroom. Tried again, on my right side.

Woke up at 6.15 - rather early, considering, but in the end, knowing that I had to leave the house at 8.00, got up bathed etc.

In My Day

Bad nights were a feature of my childhood. I'd read my books until I was dozing over the pages of Hans Christian Andersen. As soon as I put them down and turned out the light, horrors surrounded me. The trees outside waved menacingly against the lurid orange London streetlighting. Cats romped noisily in the area. The house clicked and groaned. A ghost of a little locomotive roamed around the walls of my room.

I tried more HCA - I now knew all the stories off by heart. Tried to sleep with the light on - nasty nightmares presented themselves. Better to be awake. Worst of all was when Daddy decided to go on the prowl - I'd be in big trouble for having my light on.

I can't remember either parent ever asking me why I had my light on at 3.00 am. And in the morning I was so relieved that the dreadful night was over that I didn't want to conjure up images by talking about it. I didn't even mention the train ghost until years later when my sister took over my room and talked about it at breakfast after one night in the room. (At least I wasn't mad - it was really there.)

What is impressive is that it's half past ten and I'm still conscious.