Nighty Night

The depressing ritual of perusing the threadbare Thursday night jobs supplement is buoyed by spotting a rare job that I'm eminently qualified to do. Sleep Practitioner! Yes! At long last, the value of people who are talented at sleeping has been recognised and rewarded in the form of gainful employment! Personally, I've practitioned sleep for as long as I can remember, and at every possible opportunity. I have, in the past, even slept through an earthquake. I doubt there's a better candidate for the job.

My only minor concern is the bit about the fixed-term contract till September 2015. Now, I'm all for a long lie-in, but that is some serious hibernatory shit. There are enchanted Teutonic princesses who'd think twice about conking out for that long. There comes a point when you have to draw a line between "snooze" and "coma".

So, apart from the promise of a handsome wage packet, what could possibly sway me to fall asleep for three whole years?

1) Would never have to see another meerkat or demented opera singer on telly.
2) Would avoid England's next inexorable World Cup humiliation.
3) Could probably be declared legally dead for tax purposes. Or just for fun.
4) Might awake to a world where there are actually decent jobs available for people who want them.
5) Might awake to a world where the Tory party have been ousted from power, and a law has been enacted to prevent them, in perpetuity, from occupying any position in which they are responsible for the collective fate of other human beings. And they're all legally required to adopt the middle name "Nasty Pants".

It is tempting. So very tempting.