I've never needed much sleep. As a child I'd snuggle myself down under the covers with the Famous Five, the Secret Seven, a torch, a pen and a writing pad and the dark hours would just fly by. I'd hug my knees in secret defiance of parental constraints about needing my sleep, listening to my dad snoring, my brother muttering randomly as he slumbered the night away and the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.
I think my parents knew I was a night owl, but turned a blind eye to it because I never did cause any bother. (Until I got to be a teenager and get up at 4.00 am in the summer, sneak out and take my little dog around Wicksteed Park lake instead, causing them great worries when I was missing at breakfast-time!)
My average as an adult seems to be about five hours, but is linked to brain activity. Sometimes it just won't shut down, no matter what I do, and I end up only sleeping for about two or three hours. A bit like a car engine revving out of control.
So here I am taking a few minutes out of my 'Me Time' to write my blog. It's 2.40 am and I've just made myself my early morning cuppa! Mind you, I did go to bed at 9.00 pm last night, which was early even for me.
I absolutely love writing in the middle of the night. This time is mine - all mine and no-one can take it away from me.
Sitting here on my laptop in the middle of the night I chuckle to myself. I've come such a long way since reading Jane's 'Wannabe a Writer' last summer. No more do I have to scribble in secret in the middle of the night and guiltily hide away my writings as if they were a sinister, dark secret.
I can be a proper writer now. And writers are a bit scatty and eccentric aren't they? So posting a blog at three in the morning is not really all that odd, after all.