Morpheus descending

Insomnia is a self-fulfilling prophecy. When, for example, I made up my mind that I was going to review the BBC’s new series Sleep Clinic (BBC1, Monday), I knew that later that night I would have enormous difficulties getting to sleep.

This is one of the horrible tricks we insomniacs play on ourselves. We’ll have had maybe four or five good nights’ sleep in a row and the nasty little voice in our heads will go, ‘Well, you’re not seriously expecting to get another good night, are you?’ To which our nice, rational, sensible voice will reply, ‘Well, why not? I’ve been doing pretty well so far. I’m quite tired. I haven’t got anything major to worry about at the moment…’ ‘Oh, haven’t you? Then let me give you something to worry about. Why don’t I just plant in your brain the nagging thought that no matter hard you try you won’t get to sleep tonight, just because you won’t?’ And, sure enough, the evil voice will get his way.

Only once you’ve experienced insomnia can you properly appreciate what a miracle sleep is. Annoying people like my wife, who can drop off within seconds of turning the lights out, imagine that it’s simply a question of coaxing your brain into the right state of mind. In fact, though, it’s the exact opposite of that. Sleep is a wholly involuntary process, which is to say you can’t think yourself to sleep. The more you lie there willing your brain into somniferousness, the less likely it is that Morpheus will descend.

Anyway, because Sleep Clinic put bad thoughts into my head I had to whack myself out with a Zolpidem and I only ever take sleeping pills in extremis because I hate the way you spend the whole of the next day feeling slightly fuzzy and monged.