About last night: how my wife and I dealt with my alarming sleep disorder
Ten years ago, my wife, Lillian, and I shared a bed for the first time. At about 1am that night, Lillian heard me say in my sleep: “I want to get in a wardrobe and take you to Elephant and Castle.” About five minutes later, I sat upright and shouted: “Fuck you! No! No!” Lillian says she was quite alarmed.
Over the 10 years of our relationship so far, I have said and done many more things in my sleep. Things that are funny, surreal and dangerous. These include: urinating into a bin. (Lillian asked me what I was doing. I turned around and said: “Stop pissing about Lill.”) Turning over and saying: “No, not like that, Mum.” Hitting Lillian.
Right from the start, Lillian knew that the nocturnal part of our relationship would be different and need some care.
Every night, I sleep talk. About once a month I sleepwalk. Lillian and I go to bed together and we never know what is going to happen in the night. I have said in the past: “Erm, can I have a potato? ... No, just one thanks.” I have thrown our duvet out of the top ﬂoor window. I have locked myself out of our ﬂat. All completely asleep. And all completely naked. Lillian and I do sleep naked. Perhaps I should rethink my nightwear.
Lillian and I are both performers and composers. (She is associate composer with the theatre company 1927.) For fun’s sake, we thought we’d record the things I say and do on an app called Sleep Talk. Over three years, we collected 300 recordings of me and Lillian at night in different states. On some, you can hear me terriﬁed and Lillian waking up having to care for me. “It’s alright Tommy. You’re alright. It’s me, Lill.”
From shock to compassion ... Lillian Henley and Tom Adams in Elephant and Castle. Photograph: Simon Keith Allen
Three years later, Lillian and I are touring a gig-theatre show called Elephant and Castle to venues nationwide. Originally, I thought the audio recordings would be the basis for my next solo show. But talking about it with Lillian, we felt that working together would bring another perspective to the story: Lillian’s. She is the one who has to wake up and deal with her unconscious husband shouting or pushing her about.
From the start of devising together, we knew we wanted to use our musical skills (Lillian on piano, me on electric guitar) and vocals with lovely harmonies. And we wanted to show an honest, intimate, vulnerable, funny portrayal of our relationship on stage via sleep-talking and sleepwalking. We concentrated on how it all happened, from that ﬁrst night shock, to her sleep-deprived frustration, and to an eventual sense of compassion for one another. Songs and music came out of that.
There were arguments between us as we made it. We found out quickly that we both work differently. In rehearsals, I make lots and lots quickly and then polish after that. Lillian prefers to work methodically and carefully on one song. It’s strange. We don’t argue much outside of our working life.
But at night, when we’re asleep, might the things I do and say be connected to how I feel about Lillian? I hope not. We saw a sleep specialist, and he mentioned that the time I have a parasomnia – 1am – is signiﬁcant. It’s the time of my deepest sleep, when I’m “Primitive Tom”, he told me, “not Witty Tom”. I remember Lillian laughing hysterically when he said that.
It being the ﬁrst time Lillian and I worked together, and with such personal subject matter, we didn’t know where the boundaries were. I am not sure we do now. But I love being on stage with my talented wife. I can look over while performing and relax. We are telling a simple, honest story of two people and how they cope. We can talk about it openly with each other and with audiences. Post-show Q&As are always fun as the performance gets people thinking about their own sleep lives. I remember one person telling me he’d said: “Ladies and Gentlemen, can you please pass me the butter?”
Thank God I’m not like that weirdo.
Elephant and Castle is at Camden People’s theatre, London, until 20 October