Friday morning, and one before a bank holiday weekend. Bloody marvellous. I’ve got a plan. It involves sleeping. Because while I sit here tapping the plastic squares, I’m knackered, and it’s not even 9 am.

Sleeping, right? If they made it a sport, I’d come last in every race. I’ve been rubbish at many things in life. But with sleeping? I’m worse than useless.

Here’s what happens. I stay up as late as I can so that I’m tired. Nodding off, sort of tired. Then I go to bed. Have a read until my eyes droop. Lay down and off I go. Falling asleep is not the thing. Staying asleep? Yeah, I’m like an electrocuted haddock. I twitch, jump, and wake myself up. Every night. Yep, every night, without fail.

When I wake up in the morning, it’s not so much waking up. It’s more like opening my eyes and realising it’s morning. Followed by the realisation that I’m going to feel like crap all day. Again.

I went to see a GP about the problem. It didn’t go well, and here’s how it went.

—I can’t sleep, Doc. Or I can’t stay asleep.

—Hmm, do you go to bed early enough?

—Tried that. Doesn’t matter if I go early or late.

—Do you drink coffee before bed?

—Nope. Used to. But I’ve stopped that.

—How much exercise do you get during the day?

—As much as I can. I’m always knackered, so it’s hard to get out there.

—Ah. You must do regular exercise. It improves your physical health—

—So is getting some sleep, though, right?

—Well, yes. But exercise will help—

—Right, fuck this.

And I left. The conversation went in a bloody circle—the irony. I was too knackered to argue.

Back in the day, two things were different. First, I could sleep on a washing line if I had to. Second, I’d grab four hours’ kip and be good for the next day, no problem. Easy. I’d be full of energy. Younger folk don’t realise this. When I have to go for a nap on a Saturday afternoon, they think it’s me being old.

It is. But, like I keep saying, ageing sucks. I’m off for a nap.