Damson Jones' Diary
Created | Updated Jun 22, 2003
Bed is possibly one of my favourite places in the
entire world1. At least my bed at home was. My
bed in London left a lot to be desired; old enough to
have seen service in the last war and rickety enough
to prevent the act of lovemaking being any thing more
then verging on tantric. After six months I decided I
could not stand any more and spoke to our Landlord. I
doubted he would be receptive but Rachel keeps
insisting I talk to him on the basis that he,
apparently has a soft spot for me.
So it made my month when he replaced my old bed
with a brand spanking new King size. Gone were nights
of trying to balance my body so that as few old
springs as possible dug in. I bade farewell to
disturbed nights reminiscent of The Princess and
The Pea. Unfortunately I also bade farewell to
the mornings of jumping out of bed with relief. I am
very lucky; working for a small charity means that, as
long as I get my work done, my working hours are very
flexible. This is fortunate as since this behemoth of
a bed arrived in my life and my room, it takes an Army
Logistics Corp to get me out of bed in the
morning.
I justify this slothfulness to myself in many ways.
For one, it has had a positive impact on the queue for
the bathroom in the morning. The days of fights over
who goes first are long gone now. The rota which
dictated who had first crack at the tank of hot water
is redundant. I rise on hearing Sarah leave for the
tube and lazily have a cup of tea prior to making my
way to the bathroom. Herein lies another advantage,
Sarah and, to a lesser extent, Rachel have to deal with
rush hour tubes. I rarely leave before 9.30 now and
the Underground has quietened considerably from the
sardine-like crush of earlier. I even manage to get a
seat most days now and this to any Londoner is a prize
beyond the dreams of avarice! I have also become a
great fan of the blessed Lorraine Kelly, doyenne of
breakfast television.
Gone are the black bags that used to haunt my face.
I have lost that tired and haggard look that caused
my Mother to worry and my brothers to speculate why I
had not been getting any sleep recently. I am always
bright and cheerful in the mornings now, lying in bed
watching the sun stream through the window2 makes it impossible not to be. The
real reason I love this bed so much is that it, and
the accompanying duvet, are big enough to lose myself
in. I can stretch out like a cat and it still seems
to go on forever. The crisp new blue chambray sheets
beg you to slip in between them. This bed, which
takes up the majority of the room, has become the
centre of my life in London. I look for any excuse
now to go to bed. I have rearranged my room around it
so now the television is in the perfect spot for
nocturnal viewing. Last Sunday I did not get up at
all!
And thanks to the office laptop, guess where I am
writing this very column? Goodnight, sleep tight and
don't let the bed bugs bite!
as Charlie's back, the cowshed and dairy
though.2A
rare occurence in London but it does
happen!
