My mad dashes to the toilet began in earnest around 4am, as the bottle of wine hit a no entry sign otherwise known as my bladder. My intestines had already sent a courier to the bladder manager warning of alcoholic intruders in the vicinity, and it had shut up shop early, forcing everything to go back the way it came.
At least it was a relatively quick affair, over and done with in two visits, and I still had three hours of sleep available. Ultimately though, one of life's smallest visible creatures was to inflict misery upon me during this window of rest, keeping me awake until sunshine beamed in through the uncovered skylight and cooked me out of bed.
I had no idea what this thing was, but it was unlike anything else I'd seen or heard. Each time my head hit the pillow, I could guarantee all of two minutes' rest before a persistent little insect began taking kamikaze flights into my ear.
It made a menacing little whining sound which would become louder and louder, until it had circled my head a few times and mistaken my lugholes for Heathrow. Each time I would flinch and erupt from my bedcovers in a giant spasm, feeling grateful there were no others sharing my dormitory, although if there had been they would have at least provided some alternative airstrips for the little blighter.
I put the light on and tried to search for the culprit, but it was near invisible. All that could be seen around the room were two tiny, lightweight and decidedly innocent looking winged sticks on the opposite wall. A swipe in the general direction of one of them confirmed that they emitted no noise in flight.
