A few days before Christmas I visited the London Review Bookshop. I picked up a copy of Samantha Harvey’s The Shapeless Unease, a memoir about insomnia. My friend said I was brave for buying it - if she read it, she feared she would become an insomniac again.I’m writing this a few days after I finished Harvey’s book. I’m sitting up in bed at 1am, but I know I won’t fall asleep soon. Keeping me company, night after night, is Amber Rudd, who glares at me to say I will be quarantined indefinitely....