Tucked Up in Bed

This week's exercise from Meet Me At Mike's:

I love being in bed. Love it, love it, love it. I like nothing better than to be in bed, surrounded by food and things to read.

The Princess and the Pea always seemed such a sad story to me. All those mattresses, and still not comfy!! It made being a princess seem a terrible drag.

I have a splendid bed. My friends gave it to me because it's too soft for them. It's just right for me, doesn't make my back sore, and it's plenty big enough for Sweeney to pile in when he likes, with books and toys and the cat.

I used to be able to sleep in all day if I had nothing I had to do. I can't do that now. I like getting up and doing stuff nowadays.

Making a nice bed for Sweeney has always been a pleasure. Sometimes it's been a very primitive affair, like the world's worst portacot we were given at a motel back when he was just a few months old. He took up hardly any space in it, and we cobbled together sumptuous bedding for him from our blankets and coats.

When he was sick with strep throat, he lay on the sofa at P Lane and let each of us cuddle him in turn. In a sense, it was bliss. Seeing him snuggled up with his Nana while she sang a song for him and Harper made me all happy inside.

I love how babies and kids look a little bit chubbier and shinier when they're all snug and asleep. So rosy.

I've slept in some glorious places. The bed I'm proudest of is the hammock I slept in on the verandah of our hut on the beach at Koh Chang. Every night dogs and other mysterious-sounding animals cruised between the huts and snuffled around under the huts. Mosquitoes drilled into any flesh that wasn't behind nailed-down net. The waves lapped in the distance, and I saw the sun come up over palm trees and white sand each morning.

Glorious.