All these memories come back to me tonight. It's 5:32am. It's a Saturday night - or rather a Sunday morning, and I'm sitting in the living room table in my little flat. I've got some herbal tea (ginger and lemon, if you must know) and I've made myself some toast (with oodles of butter and half a pot of Marmite). Liam is snoring in the bedroom (he always does that when he sleeps on his back) only stopping for a moment when he rustles the duvet and turns every ten minutes or so. I've crept into the living room in my white fluffy dressing gown, and I'm writing to you. I wasn't afraid of the dark, but I still don't like the gap under my bed, if I was really honest. I did creak the floorboards as I crept from my bed, because I'm just not used to avoiding them here. I'm not master of the silence, quite like I used to be. But I did lie awake for a little while and listen to the birds, wondering what they might be saying, and why I couldn't sleep. It's funny how it all came back. But I'm okay, I've got my little lamp on, and having just scribbled furiously on my pad, to you, I'm feeling a little bit tired. Think I'll crawl back into bed in a bit. Besides, my tea's nearly finished. Goodnight.