And sleep....

Since I have been up the Hilary, one thing above all others has been true: I am knackered. Tired does not cover it. My usual post work schedule is thus:

• 6pm - Get in, make pleasantries with Steve
• 6.30pm - Argue with Steve over tea as I don't feel like anything in particular and the fact that Steve tries his hardest and comes up with a million options that don't appeal is obviously his fault
• 7.15pm - Eat tea
• 8pm - Fall asleep in the big chair while Steve watches TV

Last night was following the same pattern except, as I settled down cosy with my blanket, ready to doze off, safe in the knowledge that Steve would wake me around 10.30pm, ready for bed, but then I noticed a noise.

A snore.

Momentarily I was startled. Was I already, in fact, asleep?!

Quickly I realised that it was in fact a certain Sir Steve who was quietly snuffly and grunting in his sleep on the sofa. This was an issue - I couldn't sleep now! No, I was now the responsible one; the one who was relied on to get us to bed at a reasonable hour; the parent who rouses their snoozing children and turns the telly off.

I did not like this.

And I knew, knew, that the only option was to wake Steve and head straight to bed.

Unfortunately I accidentally decided to fall asleep myself as well.

Which is why we both awoke in the living room, tv on, lights on, grumpy at 2am.