Sleep can sometimes be a difficult trick to pull. What seems so easy to achieve in the morning can be nigh on impossible at night with thoughts spinning on a loop, obsessively burrowing and exploding at arbitrary times.

The casino has perfected quiet rooms, in spite of piling floor onto floor but the concept of a soft bed is beyond them. Maybe it is all part of the campaign to get guests out of their room and down onto the machines.

The rooms are seemingly hermetically sealed, which is appropriate for it's desert theme, I have not as yet been inside a pyramid, but the TV does suggest a sarcophagus. They are heated by blowing hot or cold air machine according to the Pharaohs' own appreciation of the situation, so at 2am you can wake up freezing, and then at 4am sweating.

I have always hated giving in to sleep, I regard it as resented hard work and am relieved to scramble out of bed at 7.30am. Strangely I started waking at this time here, regardless of the altered time frame, but lately the total slippage of routine into what Baby [and daughter] needs has completed confusion.

Today I was awake at 4.30am, drinking tea and reading the spurious Memoirs of Jane Austin, but then I closed my eyes and it was nearly 10. Breakfast at the coffee shop, lunch disappears into a biscuit, and today we are promised Tofu burgers. This is a meat eating household, often personally dispatched by the New Father, but the fridge is full and has to be mollified.

Last night we ate in the Diner again, hotdog and banana milk shake, almost as good as the peanutbutter milkshake I had on a previous trip.