My timeclock is shot. We should have got up earlier today.
I'm going to struggle to get to sleep now.
What way should I be lying?
Ringing in my ears. Go away. Go away.
Who comes up with the names for blues singers? Big Bill Broonzy. Howlin' Wolf. Blind Lemon Jefferson. Anaemic Jeff Coburg. I wonder if there's a register somewhere?
Sleep. Sleep. Get some sleep. I'll be no use in the morning.
We really should get the gutters cleared out. I think the Forest of Dean is growing in that downpipe.
If I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, does that help?
This is ridiculous. I've been doing this sleeping thing for nearly 38 years - surely I know which way to lie by now?
Oof. Looks like Katie's trapped wind problem is sorting itself out. Well, the "trapped" bit, anyway.
Must sleep. I've got work in a few hours. Surely there are rules about operating heavy spreadsheets whilst sleep-deprived?
Listen to her. Snoring away. She'll claim a sleepless night in the morning, all the time she's here making a noise like someone chainsawing their way through a herd of donkeys.
What's that horrific rasping noise coming from the foot of the bed?
It's OK, it's the cat, licking himself somewhere inappropriate. Give it a rest, Bodie, you'll go blind and bald.
Didn't Marilyn Manson have a vertebra removed so he could...
Holy crap! Does the central heating really make a noise like that when it's starting up, or is the Millennium Falcon attempting the jump to lightspeed in our airing cupboard?
Now each radiator is pinging. Bloody hell. Ping. Ping. Ping. It's like being surrounded by U-Boats.
Blimey. Doug's early this week. It's twenty to six.
Stop sitting on my head, Bodie. It's not feeding time yet. And I don't want to know where your nose has been.
I could drift off now. Can I operate on thirty minutes sleep?