That's Lady Wry to You, Stableboy.

I'm awake, unable to sleep even after half a sleeping pill. I've been headachey all day thanks to a bonk to the nose by my son's skull. I feel fat and puffy. All I taste is garlic. I now have three days of my son and husband home with me.

And what I want is to magically walk out of this room, away from the computer, and find something new. I want a big empty bed waiting for me; queen size would do. Crisp linens would drape to the floor. There would be my choice of six downy pillows.

I'd spread across the mattress diagonally. My pillows would be arranged all around me to drape an arm or a shoulder over. The sheets would always cool to the touch. I'd stretch in every direction, then relax sublimely akimbo.

I'd have peaceful dreams free of overdue reports about dinosaurs, flaming pies, or murderous cartoonists*.

No one would wake me in the morning. I'd sleep fully until I slowly stirred myself awake.

Oh sure, what the hell, I'd ring down to the kitchen for a decaf cappuccino (this is my fantasy, after all). Eventually my child, dressed and fed, would appear at my bedside.

I think I've just fantasized myself back into an 18th century British manorhouse. Oh the naughty stable boys! Oh the masked balls!

Great, I'm never getting to sleep now. Thanks a lot, Brainiac.

*actual elements in recent dreams.