Is a strange ‘thing’ which hits without warning. I have had ‘real’ (as in recognised medically) problems with sleep for the last year or more, but the actual fervent desire to do anything but sleep strikes intermittently. At 9pm, I am as any other person: winding down, tidying up, making ready for the next day, flicking TV channels, chatting on Twitter… and then at around at 10.30pm I know it (sleep) is just not going to happen.

I will find any excuse not to make ready for bed… there will be a list to write, a plan to make, someone to chat to: the joy of Twitter in particular is that there are friends around the world to pass the time of day with… all the time.

When I put words in quotes – please understand that I mean nothing more than I can’t find the real word which belongs there. I know there is one. A particular one. But it is locked away: it is happening more and more – I find myself talking to professionals half my age (my sons’ teachers, speech therapists, for example) and I lose my vocabulary. If I were working today I would be earning 4x their salary. I would be driving whichever sports car I chose: fully expensed. I would not be shopping on eBay for my clothes (and indeed shoes). I feel reduced – and yet by night, occasionally, full of life, spark, wit, verve: all those things by which I used to be valued.

My twilight world is a remnant, a scrap, a valuable memory which cannot be discarded. I knit egg cosies (truly), I sew patchwork quilts, I read blogs and blogs and more blogs until I feel so enthused with projects and equally sick with inadequacy that I cannot move.

Finally – when the world stands still at about 5am (a time I longed for when working when I was on call from 6.00am until 5.00am) I will stagger into bed and feel the welcome cool sensation of my pillow.

Insomnia – party time it is not.