Start late, finish late (more on the Speed of Life)

Genetically, we Homo sapiens are divided into larks and owls; some of us can wake up early and immediately throw themselves into action – get dressed in 30 seconds, gulp down a quick breakfast, go for a run or a walk and write the next chapter of their autobiography before starting the day’s work at 08:00 promptly. Not me. I try, but my attempts at larking end do not usually extend beyond 40 squats while waiting for the kettle to boil. I only really get into my stride after 09:30. And then haltingly.

There are now believed to be 351 individual genes that determine whether we are larks or owls. Those with the greatest number of 'lark' variants will flake out up to 25 minutes earlier than those without them. Indeed, the latter group is more productive after nightfall. The science suggests that if you're not a lark, there's little you can do to be productive in the morning.

I'm clearly an owl, though not an ultra-owl; my productivity is highest in the evenings; I’m holding the plank while listening to science podcasts, blogging or tweeting, my mind racing with thought. Right now, it's gone eight pm, and I'm switched on full. 

Bedtime is the limiting factor, however. Eight hours of quality sleep is sacred – though which eight hours, I’ve come to realise, is a question of season. Moving the clocks to and fro in autumn and spring is dangerous for the human organism, which, like all living beings, is governed by circadian rhythm. The sudden jolt in autumn when we lose an hour of afternoon daylight is critical – I have learnt to counteract the effects by the simple measure of ignoring it. At the last weekend of October, I go to bed an hour earlier and wake up an hour earlier, thus becoming a pseudo-lark for five months of the year. But the clock is a mere convention (czas jest umowny); my body knows that what is accepted as "22:00" between late October and late March is really 23:00, eleven hours after the solar zenith, not ten. What counts is the time between sunset and bedtime.

In practice, however, this is rather a two-hour shift; in high summer I tend to sleep from midnight to 08:00; as the evenings draw in, it’s 23:00 to 07:00. And then when the clocks go back, the target is 22:00 to 06:00. I say ‘target’, because as I wrote the other day, my evenings are a rush to complete the daily targets – work, exercise and creativity. So it’s possible to be in bed half an hour behind schedule –but not much more. 

Being an owl means I’m not chatty at breakfast meetings. These typically mean getting up an hour or two earlier than usual, skipping breakfast at home, making my way across town in crowded public transport on an empty stomach; arriving at my destination grumpy (głodny Polak to zły Polak – 'a hungry Pole is an irate Pole'). My first thought is food rather than small talk. And so I ignore others, piling the sandwiches on my plate, then slinking off to eat them, washed down with coffee, emitting a visible ‘do not disturb’ aura while doing so. After the event, however, full of fresh ideas, I’m far keener to share new insights and network with other participants. I’ll stay as long as it’s polite to do so, or unless – like today – a train awaits to whisk me off somewhere else.

This time six years ago:
Swans' way

This time seven years ago:
Sam Smith, Shepherd Neame and the Routemaster bus

This time nine years agor:
Rainy night in Jeziorki - no flood this time!

This time ten years ago:
Wide-angle under Pl. Wilsona

This time 11 years ago:
Ranking a better life

This time 12 years ago:
Questions about our biology and spirituality

This time 13 years ago:
Paysages de Varsovie

This time 14 years ago:
Spring walk, twilight time