Uncomfortable beds and early chats

BECK ELEVEN
Last updated 09:44 30/08/2014

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Beck Eleven

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OPINION: There's nothing like waking up in your own bed.

I'm just back from visiting friends in Auckland for a few days which, of course, comes attached to a few nights in various beds.

Somewhere in the middle of my trip, I had a terrible sinking feeling.

Literally.

The blow-up mattress (which I am assured has been in perfect working order for years and has hosted several other bodies before mine) sprung a mystery leak.

The night before, I'd slept at another friends' house. They have two lovely children and my staying meant turfing one child out of his bed and onto a mattress in the spare room so I could steal his bed and share the bedroom with his younger brother.

It was the wine that put me out to sleep but it was the younger brother that woke me. Somewhere in the dark of night came this little conversation about how he'd bonked his head and la, la, la, he said as I drifted off again.

No sooner had we fallen asleep we were woken again. This time by the other brother, awake and ready for a cuddle and a chat. He reeled off a storybook full of dreams he'd had that night while warming up his cold little fingers and toes on my nice warm skin.

All this early morning chit-chat woke the 4-year-old who duly climbed in on the other side of me, with stories about how he'd had growing pains and a heart attack in the night.

But back to the slow-leaking mattress. At first I wasn't sure exactly what had happened. I was lying on my back with every body part buoyed by the inflatable bed, except my butt. That was definitely touching the floor.

I tried the side-on sleeping position but that sent my hip to the ground. There was just enough air in the mattress to make sleeping on my stomach bearable. I think I got back to sleep but my friend Rachel appeared shortly after. I told her of my deflation woes and she gave it another pump up, believing perhaps she hadn't sealed the blow hole properly the night before. She had. Within the hour, I was touching the ground again.

The next night, I tried various arrangements of sofa cushions and squabs but I kept falling through the cracks. No matter, she had a double bed and I claimed the other half.

The only problem there is that Rachel talks more than the two children I've described above put together. At some stage I remember saying: "I'm not up for talking all night."

Which was apparently a lie on my part because in the morning, she told me I talked and giggled in my sleep. This is disappointing news to me because I've long claimed to being a perfectly still and silent bed partner. Anyway, the giggling is fine because at least I'm happy in my sleep and I was talking about fixing something, so at least I'm practical in dreamland.

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Then it came time to fly home. I guess I was tired because I remember waking up just a few minutes away from landing. I was unhappy to note my mouth was wide open. Then it was home to my bed, my squishy, queen-sized bed that I complain about and blame for the occasional sore back. Holidays are great but there is something to be said for being back in your own bed.

I jumped into my own bed the minute night fell. My boyfriend is away so I took up camp right in the middle. It was pure bliss for the whole night. Then I gave myself food poisoning and ended up spending most of the night on the freezing cold, hard tiles of my bathroom. Still, I had my own duvet.

Holidays are great but it sure is nice to be home.

- The Press

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