Friday, 28 March 2014

Get out of my bedroom


What I like most about this blogging lark are the rare occasions when - after I have got it off my chest - everyone else treats my place as a cosy living-room to sit around having a chat in afterwards.

This has happened twice in very quick succession of late, and - despite what Heron says - I really appreciate it when I am not the centre of the world, and conversations take place between the rest of you as if I was almost not there. It makes for very healthy comment figures as well, which is always a bonus - even if I am not 'monetised'.

A further positive aspect to this is that it allows me to practice the 'sniping' technique of one-liner responses, without the restraints I place on myself when visiting someone else's blog (oh yes I do).

I have a friend who does nothing but snipe (meant in the most positive way) and keeps his head well below the parapet, even in everyday life. You could Google him until the end of time, and never find out his real identity. That's the way he likes it, for reasons which I have always been too polite to ask him about (oh yes I have).

It was very cold here yesterday, but not as cold as my body perceived it to be. I suspected I was in the process of beginning some sort of illness, and this morning my suspicions were confirmed. I have almost lost my voice. Don't worry though, I have not lost the ability to type, so my big, ugly mouth still has a way of expressing itself.

So last night, having forced H.I. to eat the comfort food which I desired, I went to bed at 10.30, only to be awoken at 4.00 by the effects of my eating it. Rule number one: Never make a supper of baked beans, washed down with red wine. I break this rule every three months or so, knowing full well what is going to happen a few hours later.

Anyone reading this post as I am now re-writing it will be surprised to find that most of it has gone if and when they next go back to it. I - having decided not to go to work today - have a lot of time on my hands. Lucky you.

Occasionally I go to a friend's recently acquired house for the first time, and they usually ask me if I would like to look upstairs at the rest of it.

Why would I want to do that? I have seen the upstairs of plenty of houses in my time, and looking at another one which isn't an Elizabethan or Tudor gem would really make no difference, tasteful bedcovers or not.

It's the same with gardens - there are only so many herbaceous borders you can see without being reminded of all the others. At least if you go to see the tulip fields of Holland, it is an extraordinary experience, like them or not.

I was invited to the house of a gay couple who are (or were - they split up) friends of mine, and reluctantly agreed to be given a guided tour of the upstairs. Ironically, one of them is now head gardener for a huge country house near here, but I never got a little tour of his plot at the cottage where we had lunch as his pug dog masturbated with one paw. Now he has to plant around all my stoneware which inhabits the his employer's estate.

I was shown into their spotlessly clean and neat bedroom, and began to admire the massive, king-sized bed with cream duvet on it, all puffed up and invitingly cosy-looking.

Without warning, I took a running-jump at it and landed in the middle, letting out a sigh of comfort as I seriously contemplated a short nap after lunch.

You should have seen the looks on their faces, just before they shook themselves out of their state of shock and screamed at me to get off!

I often forget that beds are sacrosanct areas of intimate privacy from which one escapes the outside world, but that is hardly surprising when people proudly take you into their bedrooms to show them off.

Nobody, but nobody, is allowed in my bedroom - even the police, now that I have sold all my guns.

29 comments:

  1. Your kidding? Even Wiki contradicts: "Le lever - The second scene of William Hogarth's A Rake's Progress (1732-33) showing the wealthy Tom at his morning levée in London, attended by musicians and other hangers-on all dressed in expensive costumes."

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    1. Oh, more important: Get well soon!

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    2. Hang on, you mean in his bedroom? Sounds like an expensive alarm-clock to me.

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  2. English people here are always asking If I'd like to look around their house, and seem quite taken aback when I say 'no'. No Frenchman would dream of asking the same question.

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    1. Good on you. Who cares about their effing upstairs?

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    2. It's their effing downstairs that counts

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  3. English people in France always wanted to look round my house and were quite miffed when I refused.

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    1. Good on you too. Ask to look around theirs, then jump onto their beds next time. It works for me.

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  4. I actually like house tours a lot. I have a relative who is the worst 'house tour tourist' of all times, though. Erroneously, she thinks that her taste is superior to all others (she love pink, pink, and pink). So she slowly sneaks from room to room, slightly hunched over, mouth either hanging open or ready to sneer. She even wants to check out the contents of other people's closets and leaves with a satisfied smirk when she has ascertained that she has more brand name clothing (however ugly and pink it may be). I actually want proof that I am related to this person.

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    1. Barbara Cartland? You must be a cousin of John's too.

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    2. All roads lead to Wales, eh? The relative in question is still young, but I fear that she will completely fall into a Cartlandian pink-mania when she gets older.

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    3. She must be quite a character then. What does she eat?

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  5. I cannot recall being asked to tour a house in the last fifty or sixty years--until yesterday. I entered through a bedroom door and exited one floor lower, at the street. It turned and twisted and opened into new views at every turn. And here you are yesterday, writing of bedrooms and house tours.

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    1. At least you exited into the street. Perfect excuse to go home lost, no?

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  6. Oh, Gawd! I feel like such a nosy cretin! Mostly though I'm interested in renovations rather than the curtains and duvets. Hope you are feeling better by now...

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    1. Yes, I would rather see the house gutted - either before or after the renovation.

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  7. Sorry you're not feeling too well, Tom - hope you're better soon

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  8. Sorry about losing your voice Tom - you certainly have not lost your blogvoice - as caustic as ever. My pug was far more civilised than the one in your post - whoever heard of such a thing. As for leaping on to the bed - must say the one in the picture does look inviting.

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    1. When they told me what the pug was likely to do, I didn't believe them - then it did.

      I would actually like a four-poster, and I would like the draughty castle which would make it essential as well.

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  9. I'm a nosy cow when it comes to people's houses, but wouldn't dream of throwing myself onto anyone's bed you trollop. Thanks for making me snort with laughter though - much appreciated.

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    1. Well, it served them right, didn't it? Snorting cow...

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  10. You wouldn't even get invited over the threshold around here.

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    1. That's my boy. I would consider a passing street-recognition in the form of a massive kick in the goolies an honour and a privilege from the likes of you and your clan. As for going over your threshold, I think you are quite capable of doing that without my help - head first.

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    2. I like someone who understands me. It would be going too far to ask how you are though.

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    3. Well, with paragraph structures like yours, it is difficult to read between the lines, but that's how I do it.

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  11. Hope you are feeling better soon, I had a chuckle over you doing a flying leap on the pretty pretty bed.
    Merle.............

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    1. All true, but I wish they had let me sleep.

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