I'd been worrying about my increasing fondness for trash TV and my inability to read anything more taxing than a shopping list (and even then, I lose the plot). But now I know it's all down to the accumulative effect of a year of getting less than eight hours kip a night.

You see, we've been blessed with a child who enjoys life so much she doesn't want to miss anything, including those magical dawn choruses. We've succeeded in getting her to sleep through the night at last, but she goes to bed just a little before us and is ready for the new day long before the sun has got his hat on.

On Saturday, Eve was up with the lark again while I would rather still have been hibernating with the hedgehog.

Wearily, I trudged downstairs with her and sprawled my semi-conscious self in front of the telly while she explored Newton's law of gravitation by pulling CDs off the shelf.

First I sat through a soothing Open University programme about the ground-breaking artistry of Cezanne. The words went over my head, but I enjoyed the long, lingering close-ups of his blotchy landscapes.

Then I watched the episode of Frasier I'd taped the night before. This is the only way I get to see programmes shown after my bedtime of 10pm, although I don't think I'll be doing this for much longer as most of them are not suitable for children.

It's probably not a good idea to expose Eve to the language and subject matter of Sex And The City at this age. Some might say at any age, but I'm a great defender of the show. Like I said, trash TV.

Three hours later we were washed, dressed and breakfasted and, Eve, bless her heart, was ready for her morning nap. Usually, I'd take a break around about this time too, but Saturday was an exceptionally busy day as we were celebrating Eve's first birthday with a party and I had a shopping list to figure out.

By the time the first guests arrived I'd drunk enough black coffee to power a light industrial estate and was buzzing like a motor mower.

Eve, meanwhile, in true celebrity style, considered her afternoon nap was more important than greeting her guests. When she did finally emerge an hour later, she was grumpy and clingy and only cheered up when she as able to wave bye-bye to all her well wishers. Naturally, she was wakeful all evening and up at the hairline fracture of dawn again on Sunday.

Thankfully, my husband was on the early shift, although they didn't manage to keep the noise down so it wasn't much of a lie-in for me.

Normally at this point in the column I try to make an intelligent observation about life. This week, I can't. My IQ has now dipped below that of an earthworm's.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.