One day down, and a new one just begun. Last night was spent sleeping soundly, outside of the duvet because despite what the stereotypes will tell you, Scotland can lay on the muggy as much as the next country.
The muggy feeling only lasted until about 4am, though. At which point my cold body wanted duvet.
And yet there was no duvet to give.
Now, Carole will claim that what had happened was that during the night I inexplicably kicked the duvet off the bed. And yet Carole had duvet. How did she have duvet?
Firmly. Is the answer. Carole has the weakest arms known to humankind. They can do nothing which requires strength. They just flap about like a Muppet’s arm before the stick is glued to the hands. Soft, swinging pieces of flesh coloured string. Weak and feeble.
Unless she’s attached to a duvet. Then she clings like a limpet to a ship, or a forty-something year old woman to the chance of copping off with one of Take That. Which is to say: fiercely.
I got no duvet from her. I lay there and actually said, “fine then!” to everyone and no-one. Determined to prove a point by freezing to death.
Then I found myself covered in duvet. Carole had found where I had kicked it to, and lifted it back to the bed.
OR HAD SHE?
She says yes. But curiously she had the duvet before and she was the one who “found it” on the floor. I’m not saying these are suspicious circumstances but had this been a TV crime drama no further sleep would have been forthcoming because Columbo would keep coming back to ask one more thing…
And yet Carole insists on keeping this deception alive. She continues to claim her reported events are the correct timeline. That it was I who kicked away the duvet.
I don’t know how she sleeps at night.
No, that’s not true. I do know how she sleeps at night.