I lie awake in bed, with neither sleep or conscious dreaming lulling be back. For some reason the light is on and the room is quite warm to the extent that my face feels a bit sticky. My semi-conscious sister asks me to open the window, and does an exasperated grumble about the lights. So I wake up and turn them off, while slipping in to the kitchen to get myself some water.

Now I'm awake. I'm the lone awake person in this house. In this very tiny neighbourhood, in this part of the east, in the whole of the city. I'm the one solitary conscious person in the whole of London, except for the late nighters, the night shifters, the drunk and the jaded, the insomaniacs, the drinkers, the clubbers, the disturbed, the working few, and the praying ones too.

I have made the mistake of falling asleep a bit too early on tonight. I had eaten too much crisps and ice-cream not counting the heavy lunch I had earlier than that. I found myself getting a cardiac about 9 o'clock and fell asleep straight away in full clothing.

So now I'm awake. As everyone is asleep, only the blinking lights of the sky line keep me company. Only the faint glow from the Canary Wharf, the dark, unfathomable outline of the Gherkin, the bright orange lights from the other HSBC tower, and city banks. Only them, this laptop and the table lamp.

Only they are awake with me. On this sleepy autumn night.