If anyone is worrying that they only got seven and a half hours’ sleep last night, allow me to put that into perspective
The most common signifiers of adulthood used to be getting a mortgage and gearing up for the midlife crisis. But who these days has the money for the former, or the time for the latter? Nowadays, the surest signs that you’ve reached maturity are an obsession with property magazines and a fascination with the quality of your sleep. Going by this criteria, I am more middle-aged than the most middle-aged sitcom dad ever (Darrin from Bewitched, who, Google informs me, was played by an actor five years younger than me when the show started. I am totally and definitely fine about this.)
I am fascinated with sleep – but nowhere near as fascinated as everyone else, it seems. I can hardly walk down the street without someone telling me about their latest sleep app, or reading an article about “good sleep hygiene”, or hearing how sleep deprivation is the health equivalent of chaining 40 Benson & Hedges a day, and of course how tired – so very, very tired – everyone is, because they didn’t get their requisite eight hours last night.
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