THERE are many small things in life that I am a huge fan of – the feeling of pulling on a brand-new pair of boxers, the feeling you get after a big tidy up of the house, when you take a gamble and order something online and it turns up better than you thought it would, the list goes on, but my number one favourite thing in the world is probably the snooze button on my alarm.

It distorts time when you press it. That extra five minutes you get can sometimes feel like hours and you spring up out of bed when the alarm goes off again, feeling refreshed and energised.

Sometimes though, you press it only for it to go off seemingly seconds later. You still feel shattered so press it again.

On this goes, the second your eyelids close over, ready to slip back into slumber, the alarm screeches at you.

So you do this over and over again, getting more riled up each time.

You can admit defeat and get up or you can see it through, demanding to get whatever extra sleep you can. I am nearly always doing the latter, causing me enormous problems with timekeeping.

I have no concept of time management when in the weird netherworld of the snooze button. Before bed, I’ll say to myself, ‘Right, need tae be up an oot fur half eight, so set the alarm for

half seven an ye can have some toast and a coffee before your shower.’

Half seven comes the next morning. ‘Och, five mair minutes,’ I say, clawing around for the snooze button on my phone.

The alarm goes off, shockingly, five minutes later. I decide that I need at least another five minutes. I’m eating into my allotted time for breakfast now but that’s fine, I’ll leave it and just get something later on. The alarm goes off again. Do I really need a shower? I’ll still have time if I just make it a

quick one. Nah, no shower. I’d rather be well-rested than clean.

Sometimes I’ll forget to hit the snooze button in my delirium and actually just turn the alarm off. I can be lying there, blissfully unaware of how time is marching on. ‘This is a long five minutes,’ I think as unbeknownst to me, the clock strikes 9am.

Eventually I feel awake enough and reach for my phone, impressed that I’ve shown maturity and restraint in getting up before the alarm. I see the time, panic, jump out of bed, pull on my denims while brushing my teeth and trying to tame my wild hair.

I then have to make half a dozen phone calls and emails apologising for being late. ‘Traffic!’ I say. ‘Nightmare, man.’ They’ve heard this excuse before.

It says a lot about my commitment to being late that the one time I was late due to circumstances outwith my control, a flat tyre, I simply told my work I had slept in and took a picture of the flat tyre to use as an excuse at a later date.

The perfect crime and, if this ever happens to you, I’d suggest doing what I did, it can really get you off the hook.

When I worked in the sports shop, I was forever getting in trouble for my timekeeping.

Chronic lateness my boss once described it as during my appraisal. ‘What could you do to improve your timekeeping, Chris?’ he asked me. ‘I think if ye gave me later starts it would help,’ I said.

What followed was me, somehow, strolling into work late for a shift that started at 4pm.

It’s embarrassing, it’s immature, it’s disrespectful but I cannot help it.

I worked there for almost 10 years, from spotty faced 16-year-old to spotty faced 26-year-old, and my boss gave up trying to give me into trouble for my lateness after about three years.

Threats of docked wages, of reduced hours, of disciplinary action did nothing to fix it. I just loved my bed so much.

I’m not quite as bad now and have, in recent years, taken steps to get myself together and stop being late for things.

Simple things like just going to bed a bit earlier make a world of difference.

A concept I couldn’t have even comprehended during my time in retail. But try as I might, I just can’t give up the snooze button. In those extra five minutes, cooried in under the covers, I suddenly feel the comfiest I’ve ever felt.

It would take a team of at least five burly men to remove me from my bed when I’m in snooze mode, refusing to get up until the extra five minutes is done.

The snooze button – my biggest vice, the one thing I’ll never be able to quit.