A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, when you only have a few minutes — for a night when you do not want to think

The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.

The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor.

Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your hands be completely still.

The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.

Feel your cheeks let go. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.

You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

Slower now. Almost nothing to do now.

You do not have to count them. Just the breath. The words can start to blur now.

Let it all get further away. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.

A few minutes is the whole requirement.

I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.