SLEEPER

It's been a while. The planning for August moves on apace and we now have accommodation booked for two out of three nights but Torridon is proving a problem. There is so little accommodation in Torridon that the landlords there clearly feel they can set a high bar for gaining entry to their premises. Only two nights minimum is the latest condition I have been confronted with. At least they're reading my request. One place came back and said they would be delighted to put us up in a double room. While I appreciate that B and B proprietors require to be more open minded than they might have been in the past, this was stretching it and clearly they hadn't paid any attention to my carefully worded email.

It looks as if we may have to go to Torridon Youth Hostel. While it looks in good nick, it's the same place it was 29 years ago. I like to think I look in good nick but I'm not what I was 29 years ago, as I think August will amply demonstrate. I'm not terribly keen on a YH. Partly because I don't really fit the profile and partly because my sleep is a complicated business and not something I like to display to viewers.

I have sleep apnoea, a condition which, according to the Sleep Clinic at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, causes me to wake 37 times each hour, though without awareness. It's a strange concept, waking up without being aware of having done so. I can't think of anywhere else that happens. Watching Oliver Stone's Alexander, every time I woke up I was well aware of having done so, and not pleased to be rejoining such a wretched experience. (Another cultural moment brought to me by Norman, who insisted on going to it and staying awake, and, worse, discussing it on the way home; it lines up with Don Quixote and a number of Geoffrey Boycott innings which I now wish I hadn't let him push me into enjoying with him.)

The effect of this condition is to render the sufferer drowsy during the day and evening, and worst when driving. For years I thought it was the normal human experience to wake up with a headache, a dry throat and a sense that I hadn't really been asleep at all. Add to that the horrendous snoring which my medical condition inevitably bestowed on me, outwith my control (all those who have ever complained - you again, Norman - please note) and action was needed.

Sweet salvation arrived in the form of a CPAP monitor, which is a small pump attached by a length of tubing to what appears to be an oxygen mask, strapped over the face at night with the effect of sending a constant flow of air down the airways, keeping them open and preventing the occlusion which is typical of the condition.

I did not immediately realise what difference this was making to me. I was still a bit dozy but that, it became clear, was because I was not getting enough sleep, rather than being a challenge to the quality of the sleep itself. Then one New Year holiday I was able to test the difference. Charlie was still a baby and was rising each morning at 5.30am. Emma and I took it in turns to get up with him, and then, about 8, the other would get up and allow the first to go back to bed for an hour or so. One morning I went back to bed and didn't bother with the mask, which can be uncomfortable. I woke feeling unrefreshed and dissatisfied, a vivid reminder of what my sleep had formerly been. Two days later I put my mask on when I returned to bed, and when I woke an hour later, I felt so much better that I was immediately convinced that the machine was a work of scientific wonder. It has travelled everywhere with me since.

It brings with it a number of side effects. My facial skin, which was always reasonably good, became very dry, and then in time disfigured by spots, rashes and the worst red nose seen outside of an alcoholic geriatric. That problem continues to this day, and it is only by the extraordinary politeness and restraint of my friends and family that it does not garner more comment. The rudest remark came from Charlie when we were buying red noses for Red Nose Day, and he asked "Why aren't you buying a red nose? Oh, it's because you don't need to buy one..." Can't argue with that.

When I go away with friends to the test match in London I try to book a single room to avoid awkward questions. However, I did once go away with a good friend and we shared a twin room. At bedtime I pointed out that I hoped that this machine would not disturb him, and he stared, fascinated, at the contraption I was setting up. Instead of telling him to go away and leave me alone, I just got myself organised and, I hope patiently, answered his questions.

The worst moment came when I was about to switch off the light and strap myself in. He looked across and said "Go on then, show me how it works - switch it on." It was truly ghastly and I swore that I wouldn't put myself through that again.

Norman and I have spent a lot of time together and he's not fazed by anything so I'm not concerned about his reaction. As Alison, his wife, put it when she heard that it was to be just the two of us rather than the original 4, "you and Norman have... each other's measure". I thought that was a good way of putting it.

So I am not enthusiastic about sharing a dorm with strangers. On the other hand, I am not travelling without my sleep machine. We'll see.

Still. Looking at all these B&B websites, with the photos of locations, has been really inspiring. There is nowhere like the west highlands and I'm very excited about this trip.

More soon, I promise.