It’s been a long day after not much sleep last night.
I completely understand why my mind decided that I couldn’t sleep until 1am, after a dramatic Sheffield United win at Millwall and my entirely justified rage at our lanky, Welsh number 9 for his lack of effort in the final few minutes. However, quite why the same mind decided that 4am would be a good time to start thinking about so-called important things instead of sleeping is a bit beyond me.
An early morning followed, with a 7am pilates class – I just go for the stretching – and then a rush home to rescue the washing from the surprise rainstorm.
I decided to throw myself into things and go for a run in the rain, and it was lovely. But it did use what meagre energy I had left. A couple of errands around the locality, and then some horseriding (not me), and suddenly, the day was gone.
And let me tell you: the night isn’t going to last very long either. My bed is singing out to me, and who am I to refuse the Sirens’ call?