It was 4am and I was wide awake - again. In fact, I'd spent the past two hours being jolted every time my partner twitched, yanked the duvet or decided to perform a one-man impression of an express train.
I'd had enough. Bleary-eyed, I padded to the spare room and enjoyed a blissful few hours of uninterrupted rest. And the spare room is where I've resolutely stayed in the 20 years since.
The so-called 'sleep divorce' is an increasingly common phenomenon, where couples unilaterally decide that a better night's sleep is more important than sharing a pre-slumber cuddle. But the thing is, I'm not married, nor have I ever been.
Yet for the past two decades, I have refused to share a bed with a partner - be they a fleeting fling or a long-term relationship. And let me tell you, while the decision to sleep apart might be easy when you've got the reassurance of long-term partnership, in the honeymoon days of early dating it's a thorny issue to navigate - and one that has defined my romantic life.
I've always been a bad sleeper. I'm that person woken up by a floorboard creaking three rooms away who then lies awake the rest of the night. So when it comes to dating, men without a spare bedroom for me to kip in need not apply.
Yet dates take it for granted that if things get a little steamy, we'll end up spending the entire night under the same sheets. So now, as a 64-year-old on the dating scene, I like to nip the expectation in the bud, telling them on the third date about my non-negotiable demand.
Many have flat-out refused to see me again. One man didn't even finish his wine. 'That's not a relationship to me,' he huffed, as he walked out of the bar there and then.
I don't snore, I don't thrash and I stop drinking water at 5pm to avoid the midnight loo trek, says Kate Mulvey. But men seem unable to sleep without kicking and snorting like a wild animal
Before you dismiss me as an entitled princess, I am not alone. I nearly punched the air when I read research last week from the Queensland University of Technology in Australia, which said people who share a bed are woken on average six times per night by their partner.
I don't snore, I don't thrash and I stop drinking water at 5pm to avoid the midnight loo trek. Men, on the other hand, seem unable to sleep without kicking and snorting like wild animals.
Of course, telling a paramour that you love them but 'please could you stop spooning me, because it's keeping me on hyper-alert - actually, please just leave' is an exercise in turbo-level diplomacy.
And trust me, I tried everything. With that boyfriend 20 years ago, I wanted to be the good girlfriend who shared his bed and woke refreshed and amicable.
On our first night together, I jumped up every time he turned over, but put it down to nerves at sharing a bed for the first time. But things didn't improve. One fitful night I was woken at 6.30am to the sound of The Jam (his alarm). I pulled the cover over my head and screamed inwardly.
In the end I got my own way and decamped to the spare room permanently. After eight months of twitchy sleep, it was bliss. But he didn't like us sleeping apart. It chipped away at our happiness. In the end, the constant arguing got the better of us and we called it a day.
It taught me a lesson, though - there's simply no way of making it work in one room. Ever since, I've run a mile from men who don't have space at home for us to sleep separately. Even a big enough sofa is fine.
I am lucky to have a small spare room at my flat. So when I am ready to put my earplugs and eye mask on, I give them a nudge and shoo them away.
I know what you're thinking. What about sex? Well, it's never been an issue for me - if anything, it's made it better. When you aren't squidged together for hours on a square piece of foam, sex has to be an event rather than a roll-over-to-get-your-leg-over habit.
There's no lazy, half-asleep fumbling. Instead, the man has to actually make an effort to initiate it. And it keeps the spark alive because you aren't waking up resentful of his snoring. Sleep is so essential that without it we are a mass of frayed nerves, snapping at everyone for the smallest things. Men who are keepers eventually see the benefits of having a happy girlfriend and realise the sacrifice is worth it.
Interestingly, when I talk about this to my female friends, most of them nod in weary agreement. Yet unlike me, they claim they'd rather endure the zombie-like fatigue than face the inevitable rows that come with suggesting a sleep divorce.
Yet if the price of togetherness is a lifetime of 5am fury, I'd much rather be the single woman sleeping soundly behind a locked door, waiting for a partner who is actually worth waking up for.