Let's Talk About SLEEP, Baby! & Calm App

 

In a desperate quest to get more zzz’ds every night, I recently downloaded Calm. App. It’s been a total gamechanger for this ol sleepless pillow princess. So while I’m on a sleep-buzzed high I’ve reviewed my favourite sleep stories for you.

Let’s start with Harry Styles’ - Dream With Me. Hazz stepped up to voice a story after a heavy-fan-flex requested it during our first introduction to Lockdowns, 500 years ago now. DWM is the most listened to story and crashed the site when it was first released.

I can almost guarantee that as soon as you get horizontal, shut your eyes, don your noise-canceling headphones, and flick on ‘Dream With Me’ you’ll be seeing Mr. Styles in a Gucci loin cloth flying about the Sistine chapel playing cupid with a heart-bow-and arrow. I was. But honestly, his voice, with a backing track of wet violins and wetter piano is so oozy it can only be described as sexy-whisper!

I’m proudly a late adopter of most of the tech whizzes of our world. Tik Tok wot? I’ve nary listened to a podcast, nor a talking book but if you haven’t tried listening to a sleep story when you’re all alone and wide awake in the middle of the night; let me convince you in one word why you need it. Harry.

I had to google, “why did harry styles narrate a sleep story”. To grab a quote from the sweet boy of rock and good god almighty up popped 471,000 results in .54 seconds! 

Harry said:

“SLEEP AND MEDITATION ARE A HUGE PART OF MY ROUTINE … FINDING A BALANCE HAS BEEN ENDLESSLY BENEFICIAL TO BOTH MY PHYSICAL AND MENTAL HEALTH. IT’S CHANGED MY LIFE! I’M SO HAPPY TO BE COLLABORATING WITH CALM AT A TIME WHEN THE WORLD NEEDS ALL THE HEALING IT CAN GET. TREAT PEOPLE WITH KINDNESS.”

Also, every lusty wench and her apartment-bound cavoodle had already written about him. It. 

The co-CEO of Calm states, “Harry’s mellifluous voice is the perfect tonic to calm a racing mind.” 

While Elle magazine reported, “Turns out Styles' sometimes rhyming, always rhythmic delivery is counterproductive to the REM cycle.” Elle also noted, “Harry is terrible at putting me to sleep”. 

No doubt because every single gal or guy searching for a Tinder date is gonna get quite carried away with Harry’s ‘you’ and ‘me’ narrative. It begins. 

“Hello I’m Harry Styles”

And tonight, I’m going to help you drift off to sleep

With some soothing words and calming music

A sleep story just for you!

With all the business of your day I know how hard it can be to get to sleep

So thank you for choosing this story and ME to help you

I wish you a wonderful night’s sleep

So make yourself comfortable take a deep breath in and then out

In and then out … and when you’re ready close your eyes”

Yeah baby they’re closed! I spent 50 bucks on an annual subscription and here I was instantly under the duvet with Harry Styles! He seems to lick his words at the end of every sentence.

“Tonight, we’re going to think about (sexy pause) anything you’d like. 😜

So first let’s visualize some scenes to see us through the night.

Settle back and clear your mind, where heading somewhere special

Beyond the world of consciousness to places more celestial.”

(watery music interlude)

I’d like you to imagine …”

 

Well, let’s not go there. He does hold your hand. And snuggle with you on a raft. There's even a log cabin with an open fire. I’m not going to let on about the bearskin rug. You will never tire of my #1 Harry but if he’s not your jam …

#2 Cillian Murphy’s gentle Irish brogue will lilt you in an imaginary locomotive across the verdant plains of leprechaun country in the aptly named ‘Crossing Ireland by Train’. Not that this travelogue, circumnavigating the Emerald Isles reads clackety clack. Cillian’s dulcet tones are more of a meditation, a literary lullaby. He points out the landscapes that inspired the enchanted world of Narnia in the C S Lewis classic and quotes Wilde, Beckett and Joyce. This is your thinking women’s bedtime story. A mattress masterclass of sorts through an enchanted green, green land. By the end, you won’t give Peaky Blinders a thought nor see that rude Thomas Shelby haircut again. All hale, Kill-ian. I’ve never been to Ireland. But I feel I want to now. This story can only be described as a polite invitation. 

#3 Matthew McConaughey pants his way like a lanky rhinestone cowboy through ‘Wonder’. To claim this is a “story about the mystery of the universe” is a bit of a push. With all these narrations, it’s all about the voice, not the content. While Matthew gets all hippy trippy about the infinite magnitude of the cose-mose, I find my subconscious drifts happily towards come-a-tose. There is probably a smirk on my face as I imagine Matthew chewing a piece of grass in his Wranglers beside the campfire. He’s just polished his cowboy boots, fed me beans with a spoon, and is reading to me as I lie exhausted after a day rustling wild horses on the range.

“Well, hello there I’m Matthew Mac-Con-nay-hay and tonight I’ll be reading a special sleep story called Wun-derrr. Before we begin, as you settle in under the covers with your head eeeeasing into the pillow and your body eeeeasing into the mattress I’d like you to let your mind drift with me…”

I should point out that it is a rare thing to find yourself awake on the conclusion of these readings. Like the child you once were, you will happily listen to them over and over. And never tire of their repetition.

#4 Idris Elba reads ‘Kingdom of the Sky’ a ‘trek across the mountains of Lesotho.’ If you know nothing about this “tiny jewell of a country, nestled in the breathtaking mountains of southern Africa” you might learn a few facts. However, alas, you will also find yourself seeing Idris (Idd-riss) as a middle school geography teacher, not the next James Bond. This is a wholesome Sunday night story of the geographical kind, for all ages.

If you’re not single or middle-aged, or for some strange reason you don’t feel comfortable nestling into your feather topper and deep breathing with a male movie star, there are alternatives.

I have enjoyed ‘Dr Doolittle’ with Stephen Lyons. Stephen’s lively yet calming voice is bound to make you feel like a contented child being read to by a loving grandparent while under a lavender-scented eiderdown.

Former Great British Bake Off judge, Dame Mary Berry reads ‘A Very Proper Tea Party’. This very proper story makes Jane Austen read like a bodice ripper. I’m still alarmed that the host made herself a pot of Darjeeling and enjoyed a cup in the window seat before her guest arrived. WTH? 

‘Sienna the Sleep Sloth’ with David Walliams just gave me creepy Little Britain vibes. For some reason, DW’s voice (which is either on fast-forward x 2, or he’s on diet pills) made me envisage a grown man with five o’clock shadow and a dad-bod snug within a wife beater and nappies. IKR! I shut him down pdq. I have no idea what the sloth got up to.

The library is varied and endless. In conclusion, Calm App is a great way to clear your mind and get more health-giving sleep. I’m a convert. Chucking on my headphones at 3am and listening to “Softly Back To Sleep” is a whole lot better than lying wide awake catastrophizing about my current worries. Even a soundscape like “Bamboo Forest” or “Silk Waves” can do the trick.

Lastly, in the hope of improving focus on my book writing projects, I’m eleven days in to ‘How To Meditate in 30 Days’ with Jeff. Jeff promises that once you master the art of meditation your concentration will be next-level! I’m so glad I found Jeff. My concentration is shot. But I’m learning how to shut out the voices in my head. Be present. Yeeha!

Jane x

ps. I’m not sponsored by Calm App lol. If you fill out a survey on their site you’ll receive a discount voucher within days. Or sign up for a free 7-day trial.

Do leave a comment if you have success, insomniacs.

Sweet future dreams! Nightie night!

The Scriptwriter - A Road Movie Spoof

Plymouth Barracuda

*I dreamt I was awarded a writer’s residency where the host was a highway motel.

Naturally, I packed my duffel bag and rocked up the next day to start it.

But WTH did I discover/do there?!

Well, you could only describe it as some bougie sort of existential mind-altering experience worthy of … of submission to a Netflix production company keen on the splatter movie short-shorts genre.*

It’s all about the script.

Setup:

Desert road movie.

Two misfits. Both creatives.

An A-grade actor with dyed black hair and one of those scalloped, receding hairlines/American. Keen to act and produce a new work near a place with three snow-capped mountains and a road called, the Desert Road.

A writer who had her first book published aged 51. Peach-toned hair/Kiwi. Keen to complete a new, ambitious project - a movie script.

They meet at a highway-side motel of nondescript architecture.

She’s come by Uber.

He drives a badass American muscle car. A Plymouth Barracuda ’71.

There are three cars in the car park. They belong to no one.

A mountain range is visible in the distance. Tumbleweeds tumble out of the tundra.

The motel owner’s son, a poppy-out-eyed greasy-haired youth is behind the desk. He will defo have a sick part to play later.

If you haven’t worked out the name of the US actor by now, let me help you.

Nicolas Cage. All 6 ft of him.

And the wannabe script-writer. Janet Bloomwayfieldmouth. 164 cm.

Scene 1:

Actor and writer greet.

They don’t say much.

Until they’ve shared a bottle of vodka. Something cheap. Finlandia.

They discover they’re the same age. 57!

They get to work on their movie script.

They sit on opposite sides of the bed in the poorly furnished motel room. They brainstorm like crazies.

Great visuals, genuinely droll snitches of dialogue, and kickass one-liners fly around the room.

Much like the overpowering patchouli-odor of the room deodorizer, which is giving Janet the sneezes.

Nicolas finds a box of coarse tissues in the bathroom for her.

The shiny brown quilt threatens to slip right off the bed.

The room is smoke-free but cigarette smoke seems to weep from the faux wood veneer headboard.

Nicolas sucks relentlessly on a grape-bubblegum vape. He explains he’s trying to give up the darts as he blows perfect smoke rings.

Janet tries without fail to find a window that opens. They both now have headaches.

Nicolas says, We’ve done great work, Janet. Let’s take a break.

He lifts the non-cordless phone beside the bed and dials '1' for the restaurant. He orders 2 x spicy pepperoni pizzas and a bottle of Finlandia. 

Scene 2:

Nicolas and Janet catch forty winks.

There’s a knock on the door. RAT A TAT TAT. TAT.

Nicolas takes the safety off his Colt 44. He’s been in short, desert road movies before.

Janet opens the door. She hands over a fifty and casually says, Keep the change.

The greasy motel youth laughs like a hyena and asks, Would you like extra sauce with that? 

He hands over the pizzas. Then he pulls out a lady handgun and aims it at Janet’s face. He attempts to pull the trigger.

Pepperoni pizza and what could be brains now splatter the ugly quilt.

Nicolas steps out from behind the door and wastes the youth.

He gathers up the script from the bedside table and flicks through it.

It’s covered in Janet’s boarding school handwriting. He has no idea what it says. It must be in a native language.

He thrusts the still warm Colt down the back of his jeans. The barrel rests under his Calvins, between his butt crack. He harrumphs and kicks the youth out of the way. Loser arsehole.

Scene 3:

Nicolas puts Janet’s hands in prayer position over her heart.

He grabs his vinyl hold-all and the vodka. He leaves the pizza, it’s covered in carpet fluff.

The motel car park still has the three cars belonging to no one in it.

A tan, three-legged dog jogs, past sniffing the air.

Nicolas pulls the door of unit 66 shut.

He does a stunt jump into the open front window of the Cuda. Forgetting he’s on the wrong side. It’s a right-hand drive.

Overcome with emptiness and emotion he slugs half the bottle of Finlandia and grabs the packet of Dunhills from the glovebox.

Lights up and takes a deep drag. Then another. 

With the cig casually held in the corner of his mouth, he drops a spectac donut, peppering the motel sign with gravel.

Then he floors-it and fish-tails onto the highway.

He wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his hairy hand, almost burning himself on his cigarette.

Such a waste.

That was a great project. Janet was great to work with.

Oh well, writers are a dime a dozen.

Final Scene:

The Plymouth Barracuda ’71, flies westwards, airborne.

Into the blinding sun.

Janet is at the door of unit 66, waving.