O Sleep, where art thou?

For years I've been a champion sleeper. I'd go to bed, turn off the light, put my head on the pillow and within seconds I'd be asleep. And that would be it until the morning.

But lately things have changed. These days I normally turn out the light at about 1am and I can still usually get to sleep quite easily, but then I find myself waking up at 3am or 4am and there's no way I can get back to sleep.

If you're having trouble sleeping try to avoid
having a musician at the foot of the bed.

It's then that my mind goes in to overdrive. Rather than remain semi-comatose so that I can slip back off to sleep, my brain decides to run through all sorts of issues.

I spend a surprising amount of time thinking of things to write on this blog. Next month, I'm taking part in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge so I can also find myself pondering that during the wee small hours. And then when I've done all that I might well find myself thinking about my family and hoping everything will be all right for them.

Sometimes I start constructing imaginary dialogues with famous people I'm never likely to meet or characters from TV shows or films I've seen. I know this latter activity sounds particularly demented, but my brain seems to be intent on showing me all the things it can do when I'm not actively using it.

By this time it could be that one or other of the cockerels, or more likely both of them, begins their morning crowing routine. Because they've decided to live so close to the house following the New Year's Eve massacre their crowing is particularly insistent.

Soon after that it begins to get light which in theory should mean I get up and start doing things, but in practice can often mean I fall asleep again and don't wake up until 10am. Having been a habitual early-riser all my life, getting up as late as 10am seems utterly sinful to me.

If it were summer I'd get up in the middle of the night and read, but just now, particularly with the weather we've been having, the prospect of leaving the comfort of a warm duvet is distinctly unappealing. In the meantime I suppose I'll just have to keep on having those conversations in my head with all those famous non-existent people. Oh dear, that really does sound bonkers, doesn't it? I need to get some sleep.

The song I've picked to go with this isn't an entirely accurate description of my situation, but I like it, which is probably all that counts. Please enjoy Sleeping with the TV on by The Dictators.

* Painting by unknown master (book scan) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

O is for Roy Orbison

O was always going to have to be Roy Orbison, his nickname was, after all, The Big O, although even a cursory search on the internet will reveal that the term The Big O will not necessarily lead you to Roy Orbison.

For now, though, it does, and in particular to his hit, Oh, Pretty Woman. I think I remember it when it first came out, but that's the trouble with this memory lark, you can't really un-remember things. I just know that I know the song.

Where this is leading to is the film Pretty Woman, which used Roy Orbison's song on its soundtrack and which stars Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. The film is OK, but I am always surprised by the number of women who swoon over it for being "so romantic".

I suppose it is if your idea of romance is a multi-millionaire buying sexual services from a woman who has to sell her body in order to pay her bills. Apparently though, this doesn't count when you have the ending in which said rich man saves his favourite prostitute from a life of turning tricks and they both live happily ever after.

I shall just have to lighten up and accept that Pretty Woman is a Hollywood take on the story of Cinderella and that's that. I'm obviously in a minority which reminds me of another of The Big O's singles, Only The Lonely (Know The Way I Feel).

Here's Roy Orbison NOT singing about a prostitute. By the way, the drummer in this is clearly at the point of ecstasy.

Also-rans: Hat tip to John Gill of Skopelos News for his suggestions at a time when I was flagging. I opted for Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. Reminds me of reporting on Bideford Magistrates' Court when a hack from a rival publication sang the intro to OMD's hit Enola Gay and wanted to know what the tune was. Fortunately the magistrates were out but that didn't stop my fellow reporter getting a few odd looks. I was able to enlighten him which at least shut him up.