Ding! I’m in bed. I didn’t lie down until twelve-thirty and I’ve been trying frantically to fall asleep for what feels like hours. The ding doesn’t help. Now there’s a horrible needling I cannot escape. On some level I understand anything arriving now cannot be terribly important. But there is something to be done; something that must be done. How can I possibly ignore it? ‘Email!’ screams this feeling, as though the urgency of the demand needs no explanation. So I stagger out of bed, towards the phone resting in the corner of the room. My email refreshes, and I hazily spot the new arrival: nothing important.

It’s the sense of powerlessness that strikes me most. I suppose getting up is a decision, but the whole process feels more automated than that. The association between the sound and my response is so strong that it’s unthinking, apparently involuntary. I’m programmed to pounce. I’m attending to matters.