I can laugh about my son’s somnambulic exploits, but for other families the results can be much more serious.
By Gavin Newsham
It was around 2.30am when I heard a creak of the floorboards and some shuffling outside our bedroom. Then the door swung open and, silhouetted by the land ing light, was the shadowy figure of my teenage son, Frank, sleepwalking again. “Have you got any scissors?” he asked, staring into the distance.
Tempted though I was to hand him a pair and turn over and go back to ...
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