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Cinderella Single Duvet Set Paw Patrol Toddler Bed Disney Princess Upholstered Chair WWE Legends Single Duvet Set Walltastic Space Adventure Wallpaper Mural Walltastic Sea Adventure Wallpaper Mural Disney Frozen Saucer Chair Disney Frozen Hooded Poncho Walltastic The Avengers Wallpaper Muralcurtain pole finials 16mm Disney Princess 6 Bin Storagemokum curtains DreamWorks Trolls Glow Fleece Blanketpowder blue dotty curtains Minnie Mouse Upholstered Chair Star Wars Rebel Table and Chairs Set DreamWorks Trolls Inflatable Chill Chair Peppa Pig Go Glow Light Paw Patrol Pawsome Rotary Duvet Set Lightning McQueen Feature Bed Ultimate Spider-Man Parker Bean Bag

Paw Patrol Mouldable Foam Soap The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe Contribute to This PageThere used to be only two things that kept me awake at night: sex and the burning desire to discuss relationship problems with my partner just as he was about to nod off - though not necessarily in that order.Perhaps it was too much of the latter, not enough of the former, that resulted in me finding myself sleeping alone on one side of the marital bed, post separation, with staring-at-the-ceiling 2am insomnia. Not only was I down a husband, but with four children at university, the house was bereft of all life but for a cat, who cruelly shunned me.Suddenly, after decades of blissful snoozing, I became a creature of the night, haunting the house by myself, counting dizzying quantities of sheep and sprinkling Bach's Rescue Remedy around my bedsheets with abandon. Marion McGilvary didn't find traditional sleeplessness remedies, such as avoiding bright screens and sleeping in a quiet room, to be very unhelpful.

Instead you cured her insomnia using her own, untraditional, methodsI tried mindfulness - difficult when you fear you are losing yours - as well as meditating. The latter did put me to sleep, but when it wasn't supposed to - usually on the train home from the office.But it didn't work past midnight when my overwhelming worries merely laughed in the face of all attempts to breathe calmly. I bought over-the-counter sleeping remedies, but these merely turned me into an anxious zombie - both groggy and wakeful, albeit sniffle-free, since they were basically drowsy anti-histamines.Everything - wine, vodka, hot milk and herbal tea. And then I needed the loo. The desperate urge grabbing me just as the zzzs kicked in.I saw a sleep expert, who told me to keep a sleep diary or, in my case, a sleepless diary. I was to go to bed later and later each night, and not do anything in bed except sleep, or not as the case may be.No reading, no TV, no eating biscuits or chatting on the phone. I didn't ask whether extra-curricular activities with visitors were also prohibited - there was no point, there weren't any.

So I became a diarist, dutifully notating as I watched the clock while the small hours became long hours, running up and down the stairs between the final episode of graveyard TV and bed, hoping to sleep - then slogging back down again in the cold an hour later to get my book.But I still didn't get any quality sleep, except on the sofa where I usually blanked out about an hour before I was due to get up. Something I had been told not to do. Marion was forced to accept her lack of sleep, which she found a lot more helpful than trying to fight against itThen, I snapped. Well, I snapped a lot, at everyone, but this was more of a severing - an eschewing of every bit of professional good advice I'd been offered by the experts and the smug sleepers of the world who think a cup of Ovaltine is better than Valium.I realised my real problem wasn't that I wasn't sleeping - it was that I was terribly worried about not sleeping.I was torn apart over the fear that I wouldn't wake in time for work or that I would be useless in the office.

But, frankly, since it's not like my job in a publishing company involved performing open heart surgery, my under-par performance would merely mean I had less patience with photocopying.So what if I didn't sleep? I wouldn't die from being bleary-eyed. It wasn't that I didn't sleep at all - it was that I didn't sleep when I wanted to and was waking, habitually, at a time when clubbers were just coming home, then stressing about it. She found that dozing off while watching box sets, and having a TV in her bedroom, was actually very helpful'Turn your bedroom into a sanctuary. It should be a safe, sacred space, with nothing to distract you,' said an interiors guru underneath a picture of a white blanket and sun-bleached sheets in a room from the Farrow & Ball bore-yourself-to-sleep range.Sod that, I thought. It looked like a private mental hospital. That's what I wanted to avoid, not embrace. I wanted a hotel room, not a padded cell.So first on the agenda was a new bed: a pink, Barbie dream bed, a foam-contour mattress and a soft feathery mattress topper (stuffed full of gosling feathers) and beautiful Egyptian cotton sheets spun between the milk-white thighs of Austrian maidens - or John Lewis.

If I was going to lie there wide awake, I was going to be cosy while I did it.I stopped closing the curtains - anathema to blackout blind fans. Darkness, say the experts, aides the production of melatonin, the hormone that controls our sleep cycles and makes us feel tired.But I didn't need the room to be dark - the city glow cheered me up, as did the odd light in windows across the city that I could see from my third-floor window. They reminded me I wasn't alone and that there was a whole world out there of people, many of whom were also awake, working in 24-hour Tescos, poor devils, or driving night buses.Next up were books. I assembled a pyramid of the collected works of Thackeray, Wilkie Collins and the fat ones that win the Booker, all those tomes I had always 'meant' to read.I piled them on the bedside table and ignored advice about not reading in bed because it activates the mind and keeps you turning pages long into the night. Instead, the beautiful barricade of literature would protect me from the horrors of the night.

From all my insomnia research, the warning that came up time and time again was to shut down computers and the tv two hours before bedtime. Scientists found laptops emit blue light that confuses the brain into thinking it's daytime and leads to a night of restless sleep.But I bought a TV especially for the bedroom and connected my laptop in the space where I'd once had a husband - both big no-nos. I'm happy to report I found the computer to be far more responsive than its predecessor. Then I got a bundle of box sets and ploughed through them with gusto.If I couldn't make myself sleep, I decided that I would just put the time to good use and enjoy it. Rather than lying awake feeling terrorised by the ticking of the clock, worrying that I'd be unable to get through the day if I didn't get at least six hours, I just thought: Oh, flick it, get out the remote control. I used the night as secret time, extra time, my time.I remember reading The Fermata by Nicholson Baker about a man who could stop time - well, I couldn't stop time, but I could borrow it from the night.

And when, next day, I dozed in a publishing meeting, well a) I wasn't the only one; and b) I'd at least seen another two episodes of The Wire. Because that was yet another taboo I ignored. I didn't watch nice dreary episodes of Midsomer Murders, I watched drug cartels and gang violence.Despite experts warning that the scary stuff can cause anxiety or nightmares, preventing peaceful slumber, I fell asleep with an open laptop and a cocaine-addled villain sneering at me. And I didn't care. The wonderful thing about box sets is there's always another episode. They don't end like a film, leaving you watching the credits feeling desolate. They are old friends, waiting for you to come back and see them again.And if cop shows become too much, David Attenborough is waiting to lull you off to dreamland with more animal documentaries than you can pick a tick off. Finally, when my choices were exhausted, but I wasn't, there remained my one true soulmate: steadfast Thackeray. He's a mighty fine novelist, and also exceedingly boring.