Stop the clocks I want to get off

Alarm clock sounds. Shrill and innocent. First time this week I've needed to travel to London. Early start. Pitch black outside and inside my head. Make it to the bathroom without putting lights on. Fall down the stairs without putting lights on. Cats bewildered as I make tea and prepare to leave. Notice the clock: 4.30 instead of 5.30. Alarm clock no doubt feeling smug that it escaped my attention on Sunday. No other clock left unturned. Sleep deprivation sets in. Exciting in an edgy kind of way. Park car in perfect diagonal at Cambridge station but incredibly between the white lines. Return ticket persistently fails to open barrier for outward journey. Train announcer has loudest voice since radio commentary for The War of the Worlds. Perhaps he's trying to tell me something. Should I be alarmed? No that didn't work. Wonder if I can undo passenger's turban in seat in front of me and do it up again before he notices. Train shoots past us like toothpaste squirting out of a tunnel. Driver steps out of cab at King's Cross and looks at front of train. Presumably to make sure he's parked it in a straight line. Tube announcer heeds my comment on volume of his counterpart. Whispers that there's a good service today (strike while the going's good) which is why platform is crowded and there are no trains. Taxi driver tries to run me over at Hyde Park Corner. What was the name of that taxi driver who won Mastermind. Fred West. That was it. No, surely not...