So....it's 3am and the cancer-stick is swirling dreams again.
I'm in an aquatic centre with far too many people, all in the yellow and red uniforms of the life guards.  They're everywhere, squirting surfaces with cleaner.  They block my path.
I can't find Claire.  I run into changing rooms, food areas, calling "Claire!  Claire Booker!" I am stared at.
Then I see her, waiting alone and very still in a corner.  I run up to her, and she says, "I thought I should stay in one place, Mum.  But I knew you'd find me, and I'd be safe."
And that's what makes all of this so very, very hard.


But to finish on quite another note, just what did sad insomniacs do before the Internet?  Before they could rise in the dead of night and have a discussion with some hairy truck driver in Birmingham posing as 'Cindy from Seattle'?