Jonny McCambridge: An insomniac’s guide on how to pass the long hours of darkness when you cannot sleep

There was a time when I put my son to bed and would then retire downstairs to watch a couple of hours of telly.

But the situation has evolved. He now wants to sit up while I am desperate for rest.

I used to go to bed at midnight; then it became half 11, then half 10. I’m so knackered all the time that I would now happily go to bed at 6:30pm if social norms allowed it.

And yet my son shows no signs of ever needing sleep. I feel we are now on an inevitable course towards a point in my life where he is putting me to bed.

I estimate that I am usually asleep within five minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

Memories become uncertain when you are so drowsy, but one of the last thoughts which usually goes through my exhausted brain is whether I can get a night of uninterrupted rest.

Suddenly I am awake.

Instinctively I know it is a time when nobody wants to be awake. I fumble for my phone in the dark and it reveals the time to be 0109. Long experience has told me that I will be lucky to get any more sleep, and if I do, it will be a long time in coming.

There is, of course, the familiar pressure in my bladder. As has been the pattern for virtually every night for the last few years (and presumably every night for the rest of my life), I have to make the call if I will haul myself upright and risk disturbing my sleeping family to go to the bathroom.

I have cut back on my liquid intake, fewer coffees, no beer or wine, no water after dinner, and yet the end result is the same. I think about the ratio of liquids ingested and expelled.

For one moment I consider if I should note it down as some sort of mathematical equation before I chastise myself for such an obvious worrying sign of a descent into madness.

I get up. My selflessness extends to trying to exit the bedroom without turning on the light.

The consequence is that I don’t see the hairdryer left on the floor and accidentally boot it across the room. My wife stirs but does not wake.

After my toilet visit, I go downstairs. I am exhausted but know that sleep is very, very far away. I go through the routine of checking that all the doors are locked, and the appliances turned off.

I click on my little wireless to a low volume and a song that I liked back in the 1980s is playing. I empty the dishwasher while reacquainting myself with the music.

I consider if this is a night when I will do something more ambitious. I have done a lot of things in the hours when most people are asleep. I’ve baked countless cakes and tarts, cooked stews and curries.

I’ve completed mountains of writing assignments – work tasks, bits of novels and short stories. This column is often composed in the harshest part of the morning.

But I also know that I’ve got a busy day at work to come. I should at least make the effort of trying to get back to sleep. I go back upstairs to the bedroom and slip under the covers. I lie on my side, then on my back, then on my other side.

Then I shift back to the side where I began. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, is if the extra effort will make a difference. I check the mobile again. It is now 0327.

It is impossible to keep unwelcome thoughts from my mind. At this anxious hour everything seems harder to deal with.

Problems or challenges which would not derail me in daylight often threaten to overwhelm me in the dark.

Absurdly, I begin to think about Christmas dinner. It is my turn to cook this year. I remind myself that I have not started my cakes or puddings.

The crab apples which are to be jellied are still hanging from the tree. I become despondent about my own laziness.

The logistical problems are coming quicker than I can process them.

How will I have enough oven space on the day to cope with all the different elements? How do I keep the mashed potato warm while I’m serving the starter? Will it cause a riot if I depart from leek and potato soup?

I grab my phone again, if only to force my mind away from the subject of the wretched dinner. I check the news and sport headlines which, unsurprisingly, have not changed since I went to bed about six hours ago.

As a last and desperate measure, I go on to social media, which, like me, seems unable to sleep.

At this hour X seems to be dominated with posts about Donald Trump. I read the comments for a few minutes but become quickly tired of the abuse and polarisation.

I switch over to Facebook. I spent too much time watching a video of a man dressed up as a tree jumping out and scaring unwitting passers-by on a street. I put the phone back on the ground.

I can hear my wife breathing beside me and the occasional snore from my son in the next room.

There is comfort in not being alone. My head slumps deeper into the pillow and I finally feel the glorious relief of sleep beginning to wash over me.

At that exact moment my alarm sounds. It is 0630. Time to get up.