'Everything must go' is sung by The Manic Street Preachers

As a result of having flipped over the day/night distinction on its back I am suffering from lack of sleep even though in terms of sheer number of hours I have slept on average 6.5 hours a day. My body feels like a wet sponge beaten up by a sexually frustrated gorilla with a dysfunctional family and only a used banana for a toy.

I have noted with wry satisfaction that this disturbed sleep pattern has resulted in the following:

1. I call my sisters in London at odd hours, surprising them (my 2.30am is their evening time).

2. I get cranky on the phone to M. ("Why are you yelling at me?" I ask M., when he hasn't).

3. The morning hours go by in a haze. I forget what I do in the mornings now. Did I just say I have mornings?

4. I have managed to come to work for the second time this week without having washed my hair. Hence the screwed-up ponytail today. I did shower, though, even if it took me Herculean efforts to force myself to do so.

5. I have crazy dreams about travelling on the ground in a multi-coloured plane to get Japanese textbooks from my aunt's house in Daegu (Korea) while fluffy white rabbits crowd the roads.

So it is with great relief that I note my calendar states I have a flight to Seoul to catch tomorrow afternoon. This means mum's cooking - hooray! But this also means inane conversations about my 'future' (read: marriage), my 'complexion' (herbal medicine) and my drinking (yes, alcohol). I don't care, I'll happily oblige, as long as they let me sleep. Sometimes a weekend at home with the parents is what you need to remind yourself why you chose your current lifestyle.

I just hope it doesn't end up with me agreeing to everything they tell me to do.