I spoke too soon…

After yesterday’s optimism and sheer joy at cobbling together such an enjoyable Saturday, I spent most of last night wide awake due to a combination of noisy neighbours, insomnia and the arrival of an unrequested pizza.

I was in bed and ready for sleep by 10pm last night, due to an early start. I drifted off but was unceremoniously woken by a knock at the front door. This doesn’t happen here – we’re on the fifth floor of our building and if there are any visitors or delivering, we get a call from the concierge team on the ground floor.

In fact, delivery people – aside from groceries – aren’t allowed leave the foyer and residents have to go downstairs to collect whatever is waiting for them. This is down to security, after a few unfortunate incidents in previous years.

I always associate a knock at the door with bad news…

In a panic, all I managed to grab was an old pair of pyjama bottoms, which I somehow put on backwards. So when Frank answered the door to find a pizza delivery guy standing there, it was a bit of a shock. I’ve still no idea how he got past security or why he knocked at the wrong door, but that was it: I was awake.

Heart thumping in my chest from attempting to rapidly get dressed in case of an emergency. Wide awake.

Cue a few hours of reading (my latest passion is ‘Seveneves‘), tossing and turning and then the stark realisation that there would be no quality sleep, followed by more reading.

I woke up a little after six this morning, feeling like I’d been to a psychological boot camp. I’m groggy, irritable and the last thing I want to do is brave Heathrow Airport. But I must, as I have a 1045am flight to Barcelona to catch. And before you feel too jealous, it’s for work! And based on workload this week, I need to spend the rest of today actually working – Barcelona sunshine or not.

Here’s hoping tonight results in better sleep.