Bed

I love my bed.  I own two duvet sets, which I get to wash with some regularity.  They were the nearest I could find to "Indian chic" that I could find that weren't from John Lewis (too expensive).  In fact, they were the cheapest I could find but they went with the colour scheme of my bedroom - reds, purples and a dull, springy beige carpet.  They both frayed within 2 months of owning them, maybe due to washing them at too high a temperature, but I always thought bedding should be washed hot to get rid of crud.  To go with the duvet set, I've many cushions and pillows in jewel colours and Moroccan sequins and small bits of mirrors (not mirrors as such, but I don't know what they are called).  Finally, on top of the duvet I fling two blankets and a long narrow thingy which doesn't serve any purpose other than to make bed-making a chore.  This is a long paragraph.

It takes me 7 minutes to make the bed every morning, usually once the children are at school.  I have to make the bed, I cannot, repeat cannot, leave it unmade.  So, this won't come as a surpise, but after one particularly busy day I had no time to make it until the evening - half an hour to be precise, before getting into it.  That is a quirk and I recognise it as such, but it's so satisfying getting into a bed that will be wrecked in no time;  and seeing as I'm a "tosser and turner" the entire bedding is on the floor by the time I wake up.  Semi colon in the right place?

I don't take anything to bed other than my boyfriend's t-shirt, when he's not wearing it of course.  I clutch it to my nose, inhale a musty fragrance.  The next day it goes in the wash to eliminate the musty odour.

I used to suffer from insomnia, sometimes I'd take about 3 hours and a lot of punching the pillow to get to sleep.  Not so in this bed.  I fall asleep immediately and don't wake until the alarm clock goes off with the sensation of a full bladder.  My bed is my bedfellow, the fourth love of my life.