Sleeping to Three Decimal Places

Long ago and far away, I went on a school youth-hostelling trip to North Wales.

In the dormitories with narrow bunk beds and army issue blankets, seven 13th-year-old girls lay down to toss and turn and wake up freezing cold, in a tangle of thin cotton and coarse grey wool.

One 13th-year-old Duck woke up warm, refreshed and still tucked in perfectly smooth, hospital-cornered, matron-would-be-proud comfort.

'You pathetic little sandwich!' - my school friend exclaimed, rubbing the Tommy Nod from her eyes.

I can't help it! I wake up in exactly the same spot I went to sleep, covers intact, pillows barely dented. I always have.

I personally consider this a plus. I might put it on my CV - 'Makes excellent bedfellow, no duvet snatching or elbows in the back.'

I could stick it in the personals 'Guinness-drinking, blonde, United fan, colour-blind, GSOH, will not put cold feet on you in the night'. Who wouldn't be tempted?

I could advertise to share a burial plot on the same virtues.

JP slumbers with exactly the same mathematical precision. He gets into bed, removes his glasses, shuts his eyes, falls immediately to sleep* and doesn't stir until morning.

Unlike Tiddler, captured here in his nest last week. If you look really closely, you might just make out the garish, tangerine pyjamas behind the cement mixer. Bless.




*Seriously. You say 'close your eyes and go to sleep now' - and he takes it absolutely literally.