It is seven minutes to four in the morning and I am awake. The darkness stretches on an on at this time of the year and I am in the very depths of it.

While this may seem like a particularly unsociable hour, it has come to be entirely routine that I am unable to sleep at the time that I most need to.

I am generally exhausted when I go to bed and usually drop off quickly. Often, my final words to my wife will be a vow that I will stay asleep for as long as I can.

And yet, here I am, again. The cruel irony is that I know that during the daylight hours, when I have many things to do, I will be yawning incessantly and there will be a fog of tiredness in my brain.

I have options. I could stay in bed and hope that I can get back to sleep. I know from experience this is an unlikely ambition.

The other option is to get up. But what am I to do?

Sometimes I go for a morning run. But now, as I hear the wind howling outside and knowing the footpaths will be coated with a shiny film of frost, jogging does not seem like a great idea.

It is not unknown for me to retreat to the kitchen. Christmas is coming and I'm way behind with my baking. I shudder as I consider that it is close to the end of November and I haven't yet steamed a pudding or done a cake. However, I've not been shopping and am low on ingredients. Festive cooking will have to wait.

Sometimes, I use these empty hours to write this column. But I have no idea ready to be put into words. As I lie restless, I wonder what I will write about this week.

Eventually, I lower my expectations from being creative to just watching some TV. Perhaps there will be a Christmas cookery programme on.

I descend the stairs and the old telly flickers into life. It is bitterly cold and I feel the frost in my bones, but frugality prevents me from turning on the heating at a time when it will benefit only myself. I shiver miserably as I pull my dressing gown tighter and start to flick through the channels.

There are no cookery shows on. Instead there is an endless stream of shopping programmes. If I wanted to buy an air fryer, a new mattress (with memory foam) or a bath which has a chair inside it, I would be in luck. As it is, none of these are on my shopping list.

placeholder image — A yellow speedboat is wheeled out to the defeated contestants as Bullseye presenter Jim Bowen says his legendary catchphrase, 'Let’s have a look at what you could have won'

I have reached channel 67 when I find an episode of Bullseye.

This immediately captures my attention for a couple or reasons. Firstly, I have not watched the darts-based game show in decades. Secondly, I saw recently that it has been revived with Andrew Flintoff as the new host. It is a clear attempt to ride on the back of the recent popularity of darts, in the same way the original show feasted off the success of the sport in the 1980s.

I have absolutely nothing against Flintoff and thought him an excellent cricketer, but I know instinctively that it's unlikely I would ever watch a reboot of something which was integral viewing on an Sunday evening when I was a boy.

This middle-of-the-night offering is the classic Bullseye with Jim Bowen as host and Tony Green telling the players to take their time before they throw.

It is a strange feeling to watch it again after so many years, like putting on a familiar old coat rediscovered at the back of the wardrobe.

It is all strangely formal and mechanical. Several of the contestants wear shirts and ties and any attempt at personality is forced. It is quaint but not unwelcome compared to the overblown colour and noise of contemporary programming.

I watch as the two winning contestants proceed to Bully's Prize Board and Tony Green excitedly announces what they can win. I mumble to myself “keep out of the black and in the red, nothing in this game for two in a bed”, just seconds before Bowen says it.

The players look unimpressed as they claim just four of the prizes – a set of pots, a cuddly toy, an electric keyboard and a games table. I'm not entirely sure what a games table is, but it looks like a board with Snakes and Ladders on one side and Ludo on the other.

Then comes the big moment. They are invited to gamble their four prizes and the money they won earlier for a shot a Bully's Star Prize.

Bowen asks the crowd what they they think the players should do. I lie on the sofa mumbling in a zombified state “gamble…gamble…gamble”.

After a brief discussion the players heed my advice and go for it. They need to score 101 in six darts. The non-playing partner scores a respectable 41. This leaves the playing partner needing three single 20s to win the star prize.

The first dart rests in the 20 bed. I rise slightly from the sofa.

The second follows it. I rise a bit more.

He throws the final dart and it finishes agonisingly on the wrong side of the wire, in the 5 bed. Bowen groans. Green looks crestfallen.

"Let's have a look at what you could have won,” I mumble, just a second before the host says it.

It could be a car or a holiday, but I don't want that.

I know what I need to see behind that rising wall in order to bring this nostalgic journey to a satisfactory end.

“Please be a speedboat,” I whisper.

A team of men in red and white striped jerseys push a gleaming yellow speedboat out onto the studio floor. The contestants stare longingly at it as Bowen thanks us all for watching.

“You can't beat a bit of bully,” I mumble, just a second before he says it.