and in my sleep I dreamt that you found me

It's 11pm and I'm knackered.

On Monday I stayed up until the snooker finished at 1am (Leah - for all you ever needed to know about snooker, looky here! It's not that I'm especially snooker loopy, but I was rather gripped by this)

On Tuesday I watched the first couple of episodes in the "Lost" second season, only to get to the end and have the announcer on Channel 4 say that I could get a preview airing of the third episode if I switched over to E4. I only meant to watch the first 5 minutes and then go to bed.... but obviously I ended up watching it all and then going to bed after 1am again. What's a guy to do, eh brother? (and is it just me, or is that the worst Scottish accent on TV outside of Willie in the Simpsons?)

On Wednesday I made the elementary mistake of suggesting it might be a good idea if we went for a quick drink after the concert. I ended up going to bed after 2am.

Unsurprisingly I'm a little tired.

Against all the odds, I have managed to be both reasonably productive at work today AND manage to play my way through a 90 minute game of 11-a-side football.

It's not that I usually go to bed early or anything, because I don't. I usually creep into bed at some point around midnight, and rely upon a bit of a lie-in at the weekend to catch up. Three late nights in a row (all of them schoolnights) has really knocked the stuffing out of me. I hate to say it, but I think perhaps I'm getting too old for this....

If you'll excuse me, I'm thinking I might go and hit the sack. I was idly thinking I might read a few pages of my book before zonking out though.... but is this really the time to be reading Dan Brown? I'm still stuck on page 50....

Oh dammit. It's now 23:30 and I'm still bloody well here.

Curses.

Right. That's it. Bedwards.