Sleep is underrated. According to experts, it is as important to your health as exercise, nutrition and not being set on fire. And it's the easiest route to self- improvement imaginable, far more straightforward and achievable than 100 squat thrusts. All you have to do is lie around doing nothing for eight hours. So simple, even a corpse could do it.

But not, apparently, a child. Concerned health campaigners want Britain's schoolchildren to be given "sleep lessons" to teach them the benefits of regular night-long slumber. This is an exciting development, because it raises the prospect of "sleep exams" – practical snoozing assessments that even the thickest kid could pass with their eyes closed.

It's easy to sleep when you're a toddler. Your mind and body skitter around all day until they burn themselves out, leaving you blissfully knackered when the sun goes down. You've only got two modes: on and off, like a blender. But once you reach adulthood, things are altogether less binary. You've got responsibilities and concerns, not to mention an alarm clock with a sarcastically oversized face sitting beside the bed mocking any attempt at shuteye. Chances are you've spent your day mumbling to co-workers, bumping into furniture and performing pedestrian chores. Your brain spends the daylight hours in a state of drowsy semi-consciousness, and only decides to spring into life when the lights go out.

The insomniac brain comes in various flavours; different personality types you're forced to share your skull with for several hours. It's like being trapped in a lift with someone who won't shut up. Sometimes your companion is a peppy irritant who passes the time by humming half- remembered TV theme tunes until 7am. Other times it's a morose critic who has recently compiled a 1,500-page report on your innumerable failings and wants to run over it with you a few times before going to print. Worst of all is the hyper-aware sportscaster who offers an uninterrupted commentary describing which bits of your body are currently the least comfortable. No matter where you put that leg, he won't be satisfied. And he's convinced you've got one arm too many.

This is the point at which "sleep lessons" might actually come in handy. Not when you're a kid (they'll only baffle you), but when you're an adult who spends several hours each night staring at the inside of your eyelids, exploring desolate inner dimensions on a rickety mental tricycle. That's when you need all the help you can get.

But practical tips only, please. No one needs to be told how important it is for your health. We've all experienced the aftermath of a sleepless night. You shuffle through the next day feeling fuzzily toxic, as though all your internal organs have been for a 20-mile run and haven't had a hot bath yet. I've got a phrase for it: "time-poisoning".

Anyway, in a bid to pre-empt the health professionals, here's a list of insomnia "dos and don'ts" guaranteed to give you a good night's sleep:

DO keep your eyes closed.

DON'T try to convince yourself you're asleep by making snoring noises.

DO focus on slowing your breathing down as much as possible. A handy tip is to imagine there's a speed camera pointing at your face; a magic speed camera that can photograph air. If you inhale or exhale too quickly, it'll fire a sharpened steel bolt into your forehead. Keep thinking about this all night.

DON'T go to bed wearing a makeshift crown fashioned from coathangers and bells – and if you do, don't sit upright violently shaking your head from side to side until sunrise.

DO keep the "worrying cells" of your brain occupied. Playing simple word games in your head is an excellent tactic. If it helps, imagine you're a contestant on Countdown, but try not to picture the gigantic clock looming behind you on the studio wall, with its huge sweeping hand marking the frantic passage of time, its hideous unbroken sweep impassively signifying the silent extinction of second after second . . . the hand that describes an arc . . . an arc that becomes a circle . . . a circle that becomes a spiral . . . a spiral that mirrors your twisting descent as you corkscrew downwards through time itself, plunging ever deeper into a void of meaningless decay . . . If you start thinking about that, quickly interrupt yourself by imagining Jeff Stelling throwing to a break.

DON'T stay in bed if you haven't fallen asleep with 30 minutes. Instead, get up and do something practical, such as driving a car or operating some heavy machinery.

DO drink nine litres of warm milk before bed.

There. Simple. And if none of that works, eat some drugs, use a different pillow, or saw your head off and stick it on a pole made of lullabies. Piece of piss.

Next week: how to solve the Iranian nuclear crisis.