I'd like to talk about a night a couple of summers ago when two of my closest mates and I decided to pull an all-nighter to watch a meteor shower. We'd read online that the night sky was going to be exceptionally clear, so on a bit of a whim, we packed some warm gear and drove up to a remote coastal headland in the north of England, well away from any city light pollution.
We arrived just after midnight, set up a few folding chairs on the cliff top, and wrapped ourselves in thick blankets with a large thermos of black coffee. The main reason we stayed up was that the peak activity of the shooting stars was forecast between two and four in the morning. We knew that if we took even a brief nap in the car, we'd probably sleep straight through the best part of the display.
To be honest, staying awake wasn't nearly as difficult as I'd expected because the atmosphere was utterly mesmerising. It was pitch-black and completely still, apart from the faint sound of waves crashing against the rocks below. Every couple of minutes, a brilliant streak of light would shoot across the sky, and we'd all point and shout in excitement. That shared anticipation gave us a natural burst of energy.
By around five in the morning, the horizon began to glow with a pale orange light as dawn broke over the sea. Physically, I felt absolutely shattered and my eyes were stinging from the cold wind, but mentally I was completely invigorated. Even though I spent the following afternoon fast asleep on the sofa, it felt entirely worth sacrificing a night's rest for such a memorable spectacle.