SOMETHING different this week, if I can stay awake long enough to write it all down.

I am not sleeping, you see. There are other things to do at night, such as lying in bed for hours in futile pursuit of slumber, chasing those bloody nocturnal sheep or counting backwards from a hundred, neither of which trick is much good.

Mostly I get six hours or so a night, with an extra hour at weekends. That keeps me upright and ticking in the doing hours.

Then I hit a disrupted pattern which goes something like this: for two or three nights in a row, the tossing, turning and sighing transports me from one end of the bed to the other, then, at 1.30am or so, takes me downstairs with a book and a sleeping bag.

In the process, I annoy two of the females in my life: the one with me upstairs who is woken by the nocturnal rambling and twitching; and the cat downstairs in the front room, disturbed from her 18-hours a day beauty sleep and ordered into the kitchen, with nothing to do for the rest of the night except lick herself and yawn.

Which leaves me to do the same on the sofa, only without the licking. Sleep eventually comes and, about four hours later, the alarm goes.

The American poet Robert Frost wrote about woods lovely, dark and deep - "But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep". I forget what he was on about, but that "miles to go before I sleep" captures the way the insomniac mind keeps on travelling when the body wants to slip away for a few hours.

Lately there have been miles to go for too many nights. So I was interested to watch How To Sleep Better on BBC1 last night, in which Professor Robert Winston and his amazing performing moustache investigated sleep.

I am not sure I learned anything, except that watching a programme about not sleeping is no guarantee of a good night's rest.

But it was interesting to meet so many poor sleepers, some of whom had been at it for years.

Doug, 83 and an old RAF man, hadn't slept well for 25 years or maybe 30. Not sleeping had become a constant agitation - and the more he worried about it, the worse he slept. He seemed depressed, with eyes made watery from too much staring into the dark. His sleep habits were examined, he was encouraged to keep a sleep diary and, gradually, he slept better.

Flight-attendant Caroline had learned to live with jet-lag and had no problem sleeping in foreign hotels. But at home, she forgot how the trick worked. An architect of sleep or possibly a sleepy architect - look, I'm too tired to say for sure - was hired to examine her bedroom.

Trying to find somewhere to stand, he diagnosed clutter. The room was purged of chaos, floaty curtains were ordered; and Caroline slept soundly.

One hundred poor sleepers took part in the programme, which was one of those pop science affairs in which Prof Winston specialises. It was like a children's TV outing for grown ups, with everything spelt out and kept bright.

As I said, I didn't learn much, except that many other people sleep badly. Does anyone from the wide-awake club have any suggestions about how to switch off?

All cures legal, honest and true considered.

The first person who says "try reading your own columns" will be greeted with a polite yawn.

Or even an impolite one.

MY thoughts on how grammar can stifle creativity in children's writing earned a stiff rebuke in the letters' page from one K Barnes of Catterton.

A more supportive email arrives, calling last week's argument "eminently sensible", which is just the sort of email I like.

The writer suggests that, if I were feeling mischievous, I could point out that K Barnes is grammatically incorrect to end a sentence with: "to show how necessary correct teaching of grammar is".

Strictly speaking, this should read "...to show how necessary is the correct teaching of grammar".

Just as well I'm not mischievous enough to mention such a thing.

Updated: 09:29 Thursday, February 03, 2005