Today I’m trying to write my way through a thick fog of sleep-deprivation; it’s making the most surreal screenplay I’ve ever written seem even odder. Last night Deia woke almost every hour shouting for her father (in Singapore,) me (lying next to her,) and breakfast (at two am.) Who knows why? Maybe the knock on effects of being in Austria over the weekend, maybe a stomach bug, maybe too much excitement at the Zoo yesterday – carousels, penguin joy, butterflies on her head, bouncy castles and monkeys hopping onto prams. But really, the terrible truth is that some children just don’t sleep well until they’re three – or (please God, no) even four or five. So if you don’t want to sleep-train, you just have to ride it out. Me and my face are here to show you that the journey – although beautiful – can be very ageing.
And what if there were two children? How on earth would that work? I saw my friends Julia and Cosi yesterday – both with toddlers at their heels and babies strapped to their backs. Both radiant despite almost never sleeping. Warrior women. Remarkable. Am I up to it? Well not today, that’s for sure. Today I’m going to write some more madness and then hang out with Deia and her godfather. At six o’clock I’ll squeeze my feet into some seldom-used high-heels and dip my face into a vat of foundation for Sophie’s birthday in a pop-up restaurant in Exmouth Market. Trendy! Youthful! Hopefully the fog will lift enough for me to find my way out of Hackney…
