Sleep Log Entry 4

Great night! Fell asleep the moment my head the pillow and didn't wake up till 8.10! But I've had a headache all day. Can't win.

Sleep Log Day 3

I was tired, I wasn't worried about anything, so... why couldn't I sleep? Perhaps it was the heat. I started off feeling chilly, then I was too hot, then the pillow was warm and had to be turned, then I was too cold and had to put a t-shirt on over my nightie and by then it was 3.24 am! I'd gone to bed at 11.45 and just lain there and lain there.

I was coughing and snuffling a bit and remembered I'd eaten a chunk of Easter egg during the evening. Green & Black organic dark chocolate; surely that should have been OK? In the end, I took half a Piriton (a whole one makes me dopey for an entire day) and finally went to sleep, to wake up just before 8.

Sleep achieved: about 4 hours. I was planning to buy a last minute ticket for the local theatre tonight. Bet I'll be too tired...

Fish - hooray!

Yesterday afternoon a courier delivered a large white box. In it were two polythene bags, each containing five small goldfish. Of course, after paying £1 per fish and £12 delivery charge, Mr G found he could have had 20 fish for free as the builder working next door was emptying his pond! But alas, 'twas too late and anyway, as Mr G says, the ones he ordered are guaranteed disease-free.

As soon as they were released into the pond, the poor, traumatised things disappeared beneath the watercress and refused to come out. I hovered for ages with the camera, trying not to cast a shadow on the water, but I think they must have taken me for a heron with a shiny silver beak! Occasionally, one would shove an orange snub nose out from under the cress. At one point, six of them made a mad dash for the other end of the pond where the pump is. A whisk of a tail, a flash and a flirt of a fin, and the fish remained elusive.

But I got this one snap and killed two birds with one stone, ha ha, as I didn't realised that Flad had strolled into shot. The white box you can see is the one the fish came in.

Sleep Log Entry 2

Went to bed around 11.30 but was still awake an hour later. Got up and had a swig of Gaviscon as I'd drunk two glasses of wine from a bottle given me as a gift, but it was a bit too acidic for my damaged tum. Went back to bed, woke up in the early hours when a passing cat or fox tripped the security light, which shines in above the curtain rail, then woke up again around 6.30 when the council green waste collection lorry came for the garden rubbish. Finally roused myself at 8.10. Guess I had about 7 rather broken hours' sleep, but don't feel too bad.

A week's sleep!

Having suffered from insomnia ever since my doctor made me come off HRT six years ago, I found myself wondering just how much sleep I do get on those broken nights when I toss and turn for hours, so I have decided to keep a sleep diary for a week.

Last night, Mr G went to bed at his usual time, just after 10 pm. For most of his life, he got up at 5-ish for an early start in the building trade and he still does. For most of mine, I went to bed around 11.30, read till 12 and got up at 8 for a 10 am start in the magazine business. I still keep roughly to that timescale, too.

Last night, I went to bed around 11.30 but was still awake at 1 am. One of the reasons was that Flad hadn't come in and I was worried about him and missed our usual evening snuggle session, with him spread over my lap with one paw on my chest and his golden eyes gazing into my murky green ones. But Mr G thinks he has found a rat's nest somewhere and is staking it out. The greedy thing ate his dinner the other day, went out, caught and ate a young rat, whiskers, claws, tail and all, then came in and asked for another dinner! (Is he trying to tell us we don't feed him enough?)

Another thing keeping me awake was that I had eaten a large helping of Sainsbury's wonderfully named and extremely fartiferous Rumbledethumps, a glorious mix of cabbage, potato and onion, the Scottish version of the English Bubble and Squeak! Eventually, I drifted off and woke around 6.30 when the bin men came, then slept again till 8.

Sleep score - 6 1/2 hours. Energy-level - not exactly bouncing like a spring lamb; rather tired. Don't think the gym will see me today (haven't been since Thursday last week!). But the great news is that Flad is back and tucked up in Mr G's bed.

Fish? Almost...

Last night Mr G announced that he had bought some fish on the internet (!). Ten 4 inch goldfish for £10 (£1 each, not a tenner each), but courier delivery is costing £12, so if I'd been him, I'd have ordered a few more, to make it worthwhile! They are due to arrive tomorrow.

Wonder if they'll all be uniform orange and impossible to tell apart, or if they'll have some distinguishing features? He says he's going to call them after his friends' children (the ones who have five boys). What about the other five fish, though? Hope I get to name one after me!

A fin gold line...

Hoorah! Mr G has decided to get some more pond fish. This is largely down to the fact that a mozzie bit him right between the eyebrows and then, when I took some water out of the pond to refill Flad's drinking bowl (he won't touch tap), it was full of nasty, wrigging larvae.

So I went on line and found out that the best way to get rid of them is to get some tadpoles or some fish, as they are voracious consumers of mozzie larvae. Yesterday, we were all set to visit a friend in Aylesbury whose ponds boast trillion of taddies when her son decided to take her out instead. Today, Mr G asked if I would like to go to the 'fish shop', but not the kind that are usually accompanied by chips, salt and vinegar.

I got ready, eager and keen to pick one that could be my special fish. We were just about to leave, when ding-dong-bell, if it wasn't Mr G's nephew, asking if he could update his sat-nav for him. I tapped my foot and stared antsily at my watch for three-quarters of an hour. Then at last I heard footsteps heading for the door.

"Bye!" I shouted, only to receive the reply, "I haven't gone yet." Derrrr. Did I feel a twit.

Another half hour went by and then Mr G said it was too late to go. I was really disappointed. But then... Nephew decided he'd better get back to work (it was around 3pm and that had been a very long lunch break). "Can we go now? Can we, can we?" I pleaded like a kid.

So we drove off on a half hour trip to the 'fish shop', only to find that all they stocked were large koi carp that started at £35 per fish. "I only want a goldfish," complained Mr G.

So it was back in the car and off we headed to another place in Denham, Bucks. The sign said they sold fish but, after several circuits of the watering cans, ceramic pots and Busy Lizzies, Mr G announced grumpily that if they didn't put the fish somewhere obvious so customers could find them, then he wasn't going to buy any from them and neither was he going to stomp all round the place for a second time.

And so it was that by 4.30, we were back home and the mozzies were gathering. In fact, they drove me in from the garden. I have suggested that he ask the man to whom he gave some of his spare baby fish last year, if he could have some of them back. It would be the same bloodstock. They'd have the same genes as Mr G's sadly demised pets which, he calculated, must have been worth almost £2000, God rest their gills.

So... fish or tadpoles? Which is it to be? One thing's for sure: I'm not going to sit in the garden until Something Is Done! Hey, how about a Hoover? I could wave it around the garden and nozzle them up. Yay! Job done.