The dog raised a disgusted eyelid as I switched the light on. Not even she wants to be up at four o’clock again. She is very good at making her feelings felt, curling into a disgruntled ball, even tighter than usual on the sofa. There is a moment of interest as I open the fridge… milk in her bowl as a libation to the resident household deity. She reminds me if I forget. But then back to her position. Occupy the sofa. With her back to me. The cold shoulder of disapproval.

For the next two hours she snores, shuffles and sighs occasionally, not entirely asleep, just awake enough to let her displeasure be known. Then a bird sings…. And immediately she is at the door, tail raised and curled displaying its feathered beauty, ears pricked, demanding to go out and defend the morning from all feathered things.

It doesn’t last long. Ani doesn’t care for rain and it is still pitch black out there.  She will wait, dragging her cosy, furry bed to a strategic position where she can guard the garden in comfort from the warmth and shelter of the open door, ensuring it remains that way by parking the bed in its path. She’s not daft, that dog.

At a predictable seven o’clock the head arrives on my knee, eyes looking up. I stroke the silky stuff of her ears. That’s fine for a minute or two but this is breakfast time. The muzzle is placed firmly against my forearm and, should I fail to take the hint, her next move will be to stand up, hook my right arm away from the keyboard and remind me of my duty.

I, meanwhile, answer diaries, edit and spend a little time online with a friend a few thousand miles away, plying myself with coffee while I wait for my side of the planet to wake and the normal parameters of day to take their accustomed place. It somehow feels fine to be working at home in the wee small hours, yet it would seem odd to go to my son’s in the dark and get on with the things I have to do there.  Habit is a funny thing.

So tomorrow, if I am up at stupid o’clock again, that is precisely what I shall do. Turn the day on its head, break out of the shell of usual and do something entirely different. The day will still contain its duties and to-dos, but I will see them through a different lens and they will play a different song.

It doesn’t take a lot to change perspective. We are, most of us, trapped in the rhythm of necessity and, if we think about it at all, feel there is little we can do to change the way our ordinary days unfold, ruled as we are by the clock and the needs and routines of others. Yet even within the most mundane tasks we can make small changes that allow us to foster an awareness we lack in our mechanical acquiescence to routine. Drive a different way to work… leave earlier and walk through the park…read a book instead of watching TV (or watch a film instead of reading!). It is surprising what a difference it can make. We already spend about a third of our lives in slumber, it seems a shame to spend a chunk of what is left stuck in a repetitive cycle in which we may as well be sleeping… and in which our mind and awareness sink into abeyance all too often.

You’ve seen the video that is doing the rounds, yes? The one with the jelly beans? And it doesn’t even begin to take into account the time we sit ‘on hold’ on the phone, complaining, procrastinating or simply feeling miserable…. Let alone the simple fact that those beans represent an average lifespan and the proverbial bus may run us over a lot sooner than we expect.

Given my choice of dream I would be a gypsy, travelling the country, learning the landscape and writing… we can all dream… Predictable can be useful, but it’s no way to live every minute… But regardless of what is possible or not,  I’d rather be awake and doing something a little more random, even if it is only extreme ironing at four in the morning…