We have ordered a new mattress, from a discount mattress place.
Until now, I have been perfectly happy with my old mattress. It has been my faithful nighttime companion through many years of my life. It has been by my side or, to be more accurate, underneath me – first in London, then here in Norfolk and the Cottage, then over in Narcoleptic Dave’s place, then back in the Cottage. You cannot put a price on such memories.
I am still not convinced that we need a new one. But admittedly it was quite cheap when we bought it, i.e. under £100. And – let’s face it – any mattress will suffer in an extra heavy duty wear-and-tear sense when it is me that is using it, ladies you know what I mean [n.b. not that I am fat or overweight, I mean that I am an energetic and enthusiastic lover]. [n.b. (2) although obviously I can be tender as well and do not have to go on top.]
The telephone rings.
“There has been a bit of a problem,” I tell the LTLP, when I have found her. She is upstairs, stripping the bedding off in preparation.
“What do you mean: ‘a problem?'”
“That was the discount mattress people. We cannot have the mattress that we have chosen, as it has been soiled.”
The LTLP gives me a look, as if I have walked into the room dressed as an elephant and singing ‘A Little Peace’, by German 1992 Eurovision winner, Nicole.
“Apparently, they were taking it out of storage, and there was all soiling on it,” I clarify.
There is a short lull in the conversation. The LTLP starts replacing the sheet.