Sleepy Time

There are times when sleep is regarded with contempt, usually by those who don't require it. 'Lazybones', 'bone idle', etcetera. What's it got to do with bones anyway? There are times when sleep is regarded as essential. 'Bedrest', 'up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire'. Whoever invented the bed was a bona fide genius, straight-up. I love to sleep. Yes, there are times full of night terrors, like this morning when I feared I was trapped in Treblinka. Upon waking, though, it made me grateful for what I've got. But generally I love to sleep.

Time was I couldn't get enough of it. As a child I would read later and later every night, daring myself to finish just one more chapter. Three or four am was a regular "oops", and my creaky eyes would close as dawn rose over the forest outside my window. Later-on, as a teenager, once things had really deteriorated, I would make it my mission to sleep-on through as much of the day as possible, feeling vaguely guilty if a friend called round but, generally, sleeping right through to the six o'clock news. I believe that's where my university years went too; probably explains why none of my tutors ever recognise me if I bump into them in the street.

Now, as the fourth dimension rattles forward, I find myself waking early, and my days filled with business and my nights filled with friends. Where oh where did all that time and space I used to have disappear to? It's not so much a complaint, though there appears every now and then a nagging awareness that 'time is of the essence'. My dad, in his seventies, expressed his fear of this with, 'it makes me sad that there are so many books in the world and that I will never have the time to read them all'.

But time is short, and stuff must be done. Meditation is one means, of course, by which we can regain some sense of perspective, of context, of the place our self has in the maelstrom we look out upon. But meditation takes practise, takes rigour, takes organisation. Sleep is somewhat automatic. A daily rest period no Tory Government can abolish, no matter how hard they hack at the pillars of justice. Sleep can take us by surprise, by necessity, by smiles, by yawns, by benches, on ferries, all alone or in the living room with loved ones. Sleep puts me in common with all mankind from Jesus to Madonna, from Ada Lovelace to Nancy Mitford to President Goodluck Jonathan. Sleep takes us all.

And where does it take us? It is a portal to a parallel world. Somewhere familiar where everything is different, where you say things and do things that you could not, would not in your waking life. And for this it can be a great resolver: so what if your loved-one is gone - make peace with them in sleep. Working to the bone from eight till eight - rest in sunny mountain lakes between teeth brushings.

No matter how scary, confusing or downright foolish the dreams you have are, life is many times more so. In dreams slaves are free, all men are gods, rights can be wronged.

So, when you can, turn off the TV, switch off your 'phone, kiss the cat/dog/husband goodnight and give yourself the greatest gift of all - a rest.

Now, who's up for a slumber party?