Sleep story: a caravan by the sea, when you have more time than usual — for an overtired night

The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.

The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice. If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix.

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

You can stop listening properly. Stay.

Let the next part go past without you. They will find their own way out. Just the weight.

Slower now. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let your breathing do the rest.

This is the longer version, for a day with some slack in it.

That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.