As you sheepishly crawled up the stairs at 1:18PM on Day 7 of nocturnality, after a well-deserved 11-hour sleep, you realised that this might be getting a little out of control.

Lucky for you, Mum would remind you of that fact as the sound of Uncle Tobys Bran Plus, clattering against the China, rang throughout the four walls of the kitchen.

She took the time to stress you that you weren’t on ‘school holidays’ and that this was a ‘bad habit.’

‘Getting up at half past 3 is no way to live, sweetheart!’

Although you weren’t proud of the time of your awakening, it was hard to see how mum’s achievements of ‘making a coffee’ and ‘chatting to the neighbour’ were really any more significant than the 7 episodes of Tiger King you’d watched in the early hours of that morning.

‘Nice of you to join us!’ Mum exclaimed, peering up over her glasses with Michelle Obama’s autobiography in hand, before detailing the five things she’d achieved that morning.

‘Day’s almost over!’ Dad added quickly in support, hoping that this might help earn his wife’s forgiveness for the sham job he did cleaning the garage yesterday.

Throughout that day, Mum, quite remarkably, managed to mention the time you woke up a total of 38 times, including 12 times to Dad, 4 times to the dog and once to ‘Pol Pot,’ the pot plant on the veranda.

‘Try not to sleep in till 4 o’clock again!’ were the last words you heard that evening.

No more to come.