Sunday, 10 March 2013

How to not get a good night's sleep!

My husband hasn’t had a particularly good week.  A lot of driving about, long hours and a distinct lack of sleep.  And as is so often the way when life is super busy, you hit the pillow only to find the brain in overdrive.  Sleep – the very thing you crave – doesn’t always happen. 
            Mr V needs noise in order to sleep.  I’m the opposite.  I need silence so thick and heavy you can hear the proverbial pin drop.  Which doesn’t make for a restful night with my husband.
            In order to solve this conflict of noise and silence, Mr V goes to bed with a radio and headphones.  He plugs himself into Talk Sport and is gone within seconds.  At some point during the night the earphones and my husband’s head part company and invariably creep (the earphones, not my husband’s head) across the divide where they rest upon my pillow emitting a tinny racket.  This disturbs my sleep and drives me ever so slightly nuts.  To say I’m a crosspatch in the morning is an understatement.  I have vaguely wondered if crosspatch quilts were derived from furious sleep-deprived spouses spending their wakeful nights sewing.  But I digress.
            Over the years we have attempted to resolve our respective sleep issues by getting bigger beds.  Married life with Mr V started out in the bog standard 4’ 6” double bed.  One year later it had been shelved for a King size five footer.
            ‘Isn’t it lovely having extra room,’ said my husband as he star-fished out.
            ‘What extra room?’ I asked, hugging the edge of the mattress.
            In time a house move occurred.  Fantastic – a huge master bedroom!  I wasted no time in sourcing a bigger bed.
            ‘Ooooh, look!’ I drooled at pictures of bespoke seven footers.
            ‘Don’t be daft,’ said my husband, ‘Queen size will suffice.’
            I must confess, changing all the sheets on a large double bed is not something I look forward to.  Try shaking a six foot duvet into its quilt cover single-handed.  It’s a task that leaves you hot, bothered, and muttering silent oaths.
            Meanwhile Mr V still persists in star-fishing out leaving me perched on the edge.  And as for my husband’s bedtime radio, I can honestly say I hate the contraption with a passion.  Take last night.  Mr V’s headphones had gone AWOL.  For once they weren’t on my pillow.  He felt all over the bed but couldn’t find them.  So what did he do?  He listened to the radio without headphones.  But being that he needs NOISE to go to sleep, he turned the volume up.  As my husband tumbled blissfully down the corridors of sleep, I rose to the surface in a total panic.  What the hell was that?  Male voices were everywhere.  Had we been broken into?  Were there burglars in the house or, I gulped, this very bedroom?  Breaking into a muck sweat – which was nothing to do with hormonal hot flushing – I flicked the bedside lamp on and then grabbed it ready to bash Mr Burglar’s brains out.
            Which was how Mr V awoke to find the room flooded with light and his wife, wild-eyed and snarling, brandishing a B & Q lamp.
            There was a mildly happy ending.  Mr V discovered his headphones at the bottom of the bed.  The wire was in a total tangle.  I left him unknitting the jumble and took myself off to the spare room.  Is this the only way forward for a decent night’s sleep?
            Which reminds me of the insomniac who went to the doctor.  ‘Doctor, doctor!  I haven’t slept for days!’  The doctor looked at his patient and said, ‘Try sleeping at night.’

1 comment:

  1. Another mini masterpiece. We have the same problem, which Mrs Jones solves by sending me on contracts that require me working away from home for several nights per week!