The Darkest Hour is Before Dawn...

...or in this case, 3 a.m.

If I nod off half way through this post, give me a nudge, will you? Three o'clock this morning, I am SUDDENLY AWAKE! I'd like to report that it was due to another inspirational writing moment, but it wasn't. There was no reason other than my mind was in overload trying to sort out various ups and downs that occurred this week and it wasn't about to allow me to get my allotted sleepy-byes time.

Also, my tummy was growling, again for no apparent reason.

I lie awake for about half an hour and then, because I am aware I am doing the equivalent of a horizontal River Dance and am in danger of waking Andy, decide to go downstairs for a mug of mint tea and a read. I'm reading Hugh F-Ws book 'Hugh Fearlessly Eats It All,' at the mo and highly recommend it as an informative and highly entertaining little number. I adore Hugh even more now. Andy and I are going to try and adopt him. We think he would make an excellent addition to our household.

In the kitchen, the cats appear, blinking into the sudden fluorescence of the light.
'What's she doing now?' says Pandora.
'Making mint tea,' says Tybalt. 'Which means she will then go into the living room, wrap herself in her Celtic rug and do some reading.'
'Oooh goody!' says Pandora. 'Play time!'

I sip my tea and read for about an hour and then my eyelids start to flutter downwards. I think, am I going to actually sleep? Or am I going to thrash 'n' doze? It is half past four. I have an hour and a half for sleeping before getting up again to let the hens out of Cluckinghen Palace. Hmmmm...I decide to stay downstairs so I won't wake Andy.

Eyes lids very heavy. Droopy droop. Book slides from hands. Head tilts back and over to one side.
'Chomp, chomp chomp.'
The sound is Pandora eating Terwilliger, the big fern that resides atop the faux wood burning stove.
'Will you stop eating Terwilliger,' I hiss into the darkness. The chomping stops. For twenty seconds.
'Chomp, chomp, chomp.'
'I said stop it!'
'It's not me,' says Pandora. 'It's Phoebe.'
'If you two don't leave the plant alone, I'll shut you back in the kitchen,' I threaten.

Eyes close. Head tilts forward so chin is cushioned on jim-jammed bosom.

'Chomp, chomp, chomp...'

'RIGHT! That's it!' I say, leaping up and chasing Phoebe and Pandora into the kitchen. No sign of Tybalt. He is sensible. He knows the best way to maintain freedom from the kitchen is to keep schtumm.

Although heart is pounding at sudden exertion, the eyes are insisting on sleep. I re-snuggle under blanket and try to regain previous comfy cushion position.

Two minutes later...

'Scratch, scratch, scratch...'

'What the f...?' I say. (You're allowed to swear in the darkest hours. God says so.)
'It's Phoebe,' says Tybalt, appearing from the gloom of the hall. 'She's trying to scratch her way out of the kitchen because she knows you are still downstairs. Pandora is egging her on,' he adds as an after-thought.

I crash open the kitchen door.
'What??' I say. Somewhere outside a dog is yapping. Yap, frigging yappity yap. And then a car alarm goes off. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!

'Is it time for breakfast?' says Phoebe.
'No,' I say and return to the sofa, leaving the kitchen door open.

Sleep is calling. My tummy has been comforted and settled by the mint tea.

Ten minutes later my nostrils are assailed by the unmistakable aroma of a wee small hour cat-just-done-a-poop smell.
'Just making room for breakfast!' calls Phoebe cheerfully from the 'conservatory'.

Wearily, I get up and clean out litter tray.

It is a quarter to six. I am almost asleep.

'COWABUNGA!!!!' yells Pandora as she jumps full square onto my head. I wonder how many paracetemol I need to take to achieve that fine balance between deep sleep and coma.

6.15. Get up, release and feed chickens, all the while keeping my eyes closed.

'You look awful,' says Miggins. 'You should get more sleep.'
'I'VE JUST LAID AN EGG!' yells Mrs Slocombe.

And now it is just gone 11. I have been awake for 8 hours. In real sleep time this equates to 2 in the afternoon. At this rate I'll be up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire by 6 p.m.

'Could you keep the noise down?' says Phoebe as my fingers trip clumsily and noisily over the keyboard. 'Only I'm trying to sleep.'
'Me too,' yawns a dozy Pandora Kitten.

Hold me back, folks. Hold me back!