Power napping is my superpower – and in six simple steps it can be yours too
Never call me at 2pm. Don’t text, WhatsApp, email or snap me. There’s no point in shouting, summonsing, pleading or wheedling. For the following 30 minutes – short of emergency or prior, unavoidable arrangement – chances are I will be asleep, regathering strength, refreshing my little grey cells and allowing my digestive system to deal with lunch unhindered by other activity.
For I, like the late Sir Winston Churchill, historian Andrew Roberts and now, if reports are to be believed, the Prime Minister, am a self-avowed power napper. And I cannot think of anything which does more for my health, happiness and temper than closing my eyes and blotting everything out in the middle of the day for 40 perfect winks.
The PM’s apparent predilection for a snooze was reported at the weekend, via a source who said: “It would not be entirely uncommon in the diary for him to shut the door and have a kip for half an hour or so – a power executive business nap to get him ready for the rest of the day.”
A Downing Street spokesman denied the story, insisting: “His day is literally full of meetings. He is hard at work and has a very full and busy schedule.”
While some may call it sleeping on the job, I have nothing but admiration for those who take a catnap in the afternoon. US presidents Bill Clinton and John F Kennedy were known for taking post-sandwich slumbers – but, far more crucially, the pre-deadline doze is not unusual among those of us with far less important work: journalists.
I remember well tales of a legendary sub-editor – or perhaps it was a printer – who worked at one Fleet Street paper back in the days when it was actually based on Fleet Street. This Macavity, this Pimpernel, was adept at disappearing and finding spaces to snooze. Management never could discover his hidey holes among the boiler corridors and Dickensian cubicles. I hope he left a map for the merchant bankers who moved in afterwards.
My own habit got underway when I was pregnant and needed a quiet place to inject myself daily with the blood thinner drug heparin to prevent miscarriage. Heparin is not served by a discreet pen like those used for insulin; this was a full-strength syringe which had to be delivered to stomach, bottom or thighs. Not ideal for the sensibilities of a crowded office floor.
I was offered a space by the company nurse at lunchtime and, when I checked it out, discovered an examination bed in place. Hmm. There was a blanket and a thin pillow too. Obviously this was not something to be passed up. A golden, giddy opportunity.
Every day after that, at 2pm, I would leave my jacket on the chair, tip my assistant a wink so she would refresh my screen now and then and leave a half-filled styrofoam cup of coffee in place. Then I would slink away to my new bed, clamber on and sleep for exactly 30 minutes. At first, the nurse would have to wake me but, after a week of repetition, my internal clock kicked in.
I would wake at 2.30pm refreshed and cheerful, ready to engage for the rest of a day that, often, wouldn’t finish until 10pm.
So ingrained did my habit become that I carried on once I became freelance. There was no cheeky frisson at slipping away for a siesta but the bed was comfier and the pillows more soft. Half an hour could legitimately be extended if necessary.
And so, for the past 17 years, barely a week has gone by without me having taken at least one power nap.
Friends have asked how I do it. Don’t I wake up more tired than when I started? Doesn’t it leave me groggy? How do I switch off so fast?
My tips are easy but you must follow them strictly.
Experienced power nappers can drop off anywhere but if you are new to this please find somewhere with a lockable door. Being catapulted back into reality too soon is unbearable.
Lie down and use an eye mask and ear plugs. I also switch on a fan, even in winter (aimed at the wall obviously). The white noise does more than block out other sounds. It has a Pavlovian effect after a while, reminding your body now is the time to sleep.
You must chuck something over you – a blanket, dressing gown or a rug. Your body temperature sinks fast when you are recharging your battery.
Do not share this power nap with small children, other adults and especially not dogs. This is your moment; your gift to you. A jewel of pure selfishness. Embrace it.
Start counting. One to 10, over and over, as though you are being fed numerical anaesthetic through a drip. Do not overthink. This is not the time to worry about the drains or tax returns. You can do that perfectly well at 1am. Now is for shutdown. Remind yourself and keep counting repetitively.
I guarantee the next thing you realise will be that half an hour of pure nirvana has been achieved. Get up, slide back to your seat and have a mug of tea and a digestive to break your mini fast. You are now good to go. Full power has been restored. You can take on anything from Brexit to vaccines to unloading the dishwasher.
Anyway, you must excuse me. I have some urgent business to attend to of my own. I’ll just leave my jacket and coffee cup here. See you in half an hour.
