There are only two types of people who are usually awake at 3 AM. 

• The first is when you’re a new parent, desperately trying to decipher if that’s a “hungry” cry or a “wet diaper” cry (or both! *gulp*)
• The second is when you’re teething on the edge of insomnia and have been “blessed” – with an overactive mind. 

At this point, I’m firmly in Camp B. And if you can relate, you’re probably a fellow member too. (Let me know, and I’ll send you the official membership cards and super-fuzzy slippers).

3 AM is a bit of a bizarre time. All research states that this is when the world is asleep, en route to reaching that deep REM status that everyone craves. But my brain, the treacherous little fiend, clearly missed this memo and decided to throw a late-night party, to which everyone’s invited – except sleep. 

3 AM is also where the most random thoughts come out to play. It’s almost as if my brain has been waiting all day for this moment, saving up the most bizarre questions and scenarios to make their cameos. I’ll give it this though – the 3 AM brain can inject more layers of complexity into an idea than Christopher Nolan’s storytelling. (Maybe he’s part of the elite 3 AM club too)

It usually starts with something relatively straightforward and sensible like:

• I should really try some more deep breathing – it’ll definitely help me sleep.”
• If I get up now and make a quick list, those errands won’t feel so overwhelming tomorrow
•  That recipe I keep meaning to try… maybe tomorrow’s the day. 

And then, without batting an eyelid, the 3 AM thoughts slip into “method actor mode” – now dressed in bright colours like in Riley’s brain from the movie “Inside Out”. First up is worry. 

As the minutes tick by, so do the thoughts. But now they’ve gone up a couple of notches, past worry and into full-blown, quirky thoughts bordering on existential crisis:

• What if pigeons could talk? Would they have a secret society where they plan a hostile takeover?
• It’s hot. But if I leave my feet out of the duvet, and someone breaks in, will they chop them off?
• What if the internet went down forever? What do we do? Would my son even know how to play outside? 

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And worse, at some point, all questions and thoughts merge into one. Like the screenplay for a movie. And not some prestigious, introspective arthouse film, but one of those B-movie gems with low-budget special effects and delightfully cheesy dialogue delivery.

I’m a frazzled protagonist chef with a perpetual fear of pigeons. I have a shot at getting my restaurant a Michelin star, but here’s the catch – I need to follow a secret legacy recipe, where the hero of the dish is …yep, you guessed it –  pigeon.

And then one day, I wake up and realise I can suddenly hear pigeons speak – and they’re debating the best way to infiltrate human society (“Aim for the picnic baskets!” screams a particularly fluffy one). One of them spots me – so I run.

Cut to my bedroom, where I’m on the bed. Drenched in sweat, trying to do some deep breathing as I saw on that YouTube video. But then there’s a knock at the door, and I see the handle turning. But I’d locked the main door to the flat. Or had I? Wait, can pigeons open doors?

The door opens slightly, and I see the sharp, glistening metal. It’s a knife, I think. I suddenly realise that my feet are out of the duvet. Oh my god, this is now a horror movie. I frantically Google “How to defend myself from talking Pigeons?” while desperately building a blanket fort.

Oh no! The internet has gone. Disappeared.

Just when the tension peaks, the fear overwhelming, my eyes snap to the one thing that can break the spell…my phone on the bedside.

Its digital glow cuts through the shadows, and the numbers scream a silent alarm: 3:27 AM.

Stillness settles.

The pigeons, the fear, the existential angst of my culinary future… it all fades slightly, not defeated, but pushed back into the recesses of my sleep-addled mind. It’s still the dead of night, that bewitching hour where anything seems possible.

But for now, the most pressing threat is the fact that there are only a few hours of sleep left before morning, and along with it, another day of pigeon recipes and the pressures of reality.

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Truth is that the 3 AM club can often be a lonely, anxiety-ridden place for most. But often, in those blurry-eyed moments, the most profound (or profoundly ridiculous) thoughts lay the seeds for something fantastic. Some of my best stories, those weird and wonderful plot twists, all come to life during the reign of the 3 AM club.

So my fellow insomniacs, if you find yourself wide awake at 3 AM, just know you’re in good company. We’re the ones penning the great pigeon conspiracy novels no one asked for and the ones who can (perhaps) write the next award-winning screenplay where the plot revolves around your overflowing pile of unread books whispering an ancient secret.  

Stay strong, 3 AM Club. 

We may stumble into the daylight a little confused and sleep-deprived, but at least we’ll be prepared with a battle plan when the missing single socks from the washing machine join the abandoned lidless Tupperware boxes in the revolt against the human race.

*All images courtesy of the wild and wonderful brain of AI. Maybe the only one that can match my level of random thoughts.