Why, oh why, is sleep so difficult? I spent much of the last year trying to prove that body clocks don't exist, I'm paying the price now, as reality kicks in like the worst of black coffees.

And tonight - or today - is not the best of times to go through another fit of insomnia. Tomorrow Jose Pununari, from the occupied Zanon factory in Argentina, speaks at SOAS, and I want to be there and I want to be awake. The factory takeovers by workers in Argentina have, for me, been the most exciting thing to have happened since the millennium began. Will they lead anywhere? One doesn't dare hope too much, of course, given the history of our hopes on the Left, and all our idols and movements with their tragedies and defeats and feet of clay...but yet...but yet.
Right. I thought I might have something clever/profound/witty to say. Surely there's some compensation for not being able to sleep? But it turns out I don't. I shall continue to listen to Jerry Garcia cover Dylan's music and fight the good fight against the demon of wakefulness. U. has promised to deliver a wake-up call at 8.30 in the morning...bless her, but I have a feeling it'll be to no avail. And in the meantime, anyone in London whose hearts are set a-beating at the idea of a workplace without bosses, please do turn up at SOAS tomorrow. Two in the afternoon. There - I've done my bit for the revolution. Now good night.