Stumpy

Other than the bath my other favourate place is predictably the bed.  This is all well and dandy or should I say it would be yet my bed unfortunately has a tragic form of terminal zombieitis. It died a long time ago yet joined the ranks of the undead and has been losing limbs and randomly trying to devour me ever since. By devour, I'm not talking in a yes please Mr Eric Northman kind of way, this is more of a scabby rabid coyote with a steak kind of way.

The mattress is my twin insofar as to say it's considerably lumpy, bumpy and decidedly saggy yet it pokes, prods and nips like one of those bloody yorkshire terriers or worse still, The Husband. One of the slats long ago broke followed by another resulting in the bottom of the bed being supported by old storage containers to prevent it collapsing.

Yet two weeks ago the bed underwent emergency surgery carried out by Doctor Husband and an old bent saw resulting in necessary amputation. The footer of the bed had come away at one end yet clung on like some starving parasite at the other side due to The Husband previously buggering up the screw making it bloody impossible to remove and dismantle.Arse.  So what we now had was the equivalent of a large swinging metal gate that The Toddler loved to include in his kamikaze stunts. Accident waiting to happen not to mentioned terribly noisy. So, out came the saw. The foot of The bed removed it left an ugly protruding stump of sharp metal, how divinely fetching. Dr Husband then expertly dressed this with a towel and gaffer tape. Yes, really. He's quite the improviser. My bed is now affectionately called stumpy.

It's not done too badly really. It was a cheap bed and mattress to start with, over eight years ago, as we were perpetually skint (some things never change) and my great aunts rather kindly paid for it for an engagement gift. We were happy though as we had a new bed, new! Better still it was handcufftastic and king size. Hell yeah! This was shortly before they brought out super-king-size you know just to piss on your parade, a bit like when you got an A in your GCSES then the bastards introduced A*'s just to ensure your achievements are rendered that little bit more futile.

I dream of a new bed. The Husband and I often debate four posters versus water beds though quite frankly even a camp bed would be an improvement for the sofa relegated husband.

In all honesty I'd be happy with any bed and for once in my adult life, a decent mattress. I have been positively lusting over sites such as 1907 Beds.

Still, the old bed has done us well seeing us through three pregnancies, one miscarriage, 4 years of co-sleeping, illness, depression and three exuberant and very bouncey little sods children and it will have to continue to do so as unfortunately It's at the bottom of a very long list of things that need replacing such as the dead computer, The half dead dyson, the dying toaster, the dead tumble drier, the dying television etc

...and It's still one of my favourate places to be.