Saturday, 3 December 2011

The Saga Of The New Bed

I decided that we were in dire need of a new bed, I mean, what if I was maligning poor old Asda for keeping me awake when really it was the fault of a few springs and an aching back that were responsible for waking me up.

One was ordered from Argos just over a week ago. This was after we'd been for a look around and had a few bounces in other places. I always read customer feedback which all looked good, plus - and not to be sneezed at - our purchase had a - WOW half price - label on the Argos website. No, I do not fall for that crap, we've gone into the sales technique before, but this was the bed I fancied.

It came exactly when Argos said it would, with a text the day before and a phone call an hour before it was due to arrive, I can't fault Argos for their delivery. I can on the other hand be annoyed - at myself - because Argos more or less send offers daily by email - which I obviously delete before reading - and so paid the delivery charge ... which would have been free with the code I received about six times in one day. This won't happen again. Then to top it off the £10 voucher was introduced two days later - bugger!

Yesterday - the morning of delivery, it's action stations, hmm, four draws to remove, one containing half of my entire stock of lotions and potions, another is full of big pyjamas, only to be worn in the event of an ice-age, Oh chuff me, two carrier bags full of socks, we covered all this sockiness ages ago - note to self - do not buy any more socks.

Himself took out his draws and put them to one side, I don't need to know what lurks in their deepest depths, I've got enough on with my own rubbish.

The bedding was hurled downstairs in the usual fashion to be washed, I don't know what the urgency was, because I do have more bedding in exactly the same flavour waiting in the wings.

The mattress, hmm - now the old mattress topper had been removed [and thrown away] - there it skulked in all its glory. I told it that I'd no longer be sucking up any dead skin it was hoarding with the Dyson, and never again would it flatten me against the wall when I turned it. It just laid there looking ... saggy.

My grumpy old man returned from the bookies and the mattress was evicted, it got its own back on the way out with a jab under the chin and one more spring in the ribs.

The divan base was halved, we went downstairs with one half ... then back up ... down ... up ... down ... up ... down ... 'to you' ... 'turn it' ... 'no, back up' ... 'this way' ... 'Will you just take the bloody handrail off!!'

The big wooden handrail was taken off the wall ... where do you put a handrail? I had to back up the stairs with it, round the bend a bit and into the bathroom ... sigh.

Here goes again ... down ... waddle, waddle ... 'up a bit' ... 'twist it' ... down ... up ... 'Will you just take that bloody door off!!'  ... Of course this is the only door in the entire house that doesn't just lift off, this one needed two screwdrivers and a hammer.

Down ... YES! ... And out, ditto the other half. At last.

Oh yuck, all that dust and a mountain of biscuit crumbs on his side. I got everywhere clean and then buffed up the brass headboard ready for the new arrival while grumpy made a sarnie.

There was a slight worry that we wouldn't get the new bed upstairs, there was only one more option left if they were bigger bases, and that would mean the removal of a cupboard over the bottom of the stairs - hmm.

It arrived, one half divan was measured, phew two whole inches shallower - the mattress was deeper. We got them upstairs, unpacked and got on with removing bits of cardboard with dodgy staples, then I cut off the extra fabric that were holding the draws shut.

We got to the castors, two were proving difficult to force in, so I suggested we put the base down and ever so gently sit on the corners until they plopped in ... mine went in with a thunk and grumpy told me to go and bounce on the corner he was struggling with. This I did ... and then realised he could have done it himself but was inferring that it needed more weight than he'd got to do it ... I hit him.

The mattress was fetched up and unpacked - carefully, he wanted to save the plastic sheeting, yet more crap to store. Of course, knowing full well the last bit you'd want would be the mattress, they thought this would be the best place to put the instructions, hmm, not to worry, we'd done everything correctly apart from hitting the castors with a wooden mallet.

It is done ... headboard fitted, new mattress protector on, sheets etc. It doesn't look as wide as the old one, it was measured, it was the same so this must be an illusion caused by the old mattress going splat when you laid on it. I asked him where he was sleeping as there was only room for me and the cat. He said there'd be room.

We were both yawning and doing exaggerated stretching ... 'early night?' ... 'Yeah' ... Much splashing in the bathroom ensued. We were both squeaky clean but alas no longer tired, telly was viewed.

At last, bedtime.

Books out, reading glasses on ... 'Are you comfy?' ... 'Yes, you?' ... 'Hmm' ... sleepy time ... Oh bo***ks, it's 12.35 and Asda have got a chiller/freezer lorry going full-brum with many changes of octaves and much reversing bleeps ... tw*t! ... 12.45 - peace ... 12.55 - it starts again, going through all the different notes until it's running full bore again. So no, it wasn't the ancient bed keeping me awake.

Around 4.00ish Grumpy gets up to go to the loo, I was woken by the bump. He'd launched himself off the edge of the bed but it was higher and bouncier than the old one. He ended up on his hands and knees on the floor, he couldn't get back up for laughing, by now we were both giggling like naughty teenagers.

A little later I turned over, of course being half asleep, I forgot what I was doing and went for it full force like I usually do when I'm fighting my way out of saggy springs. I shot up the bed and banged my head on the uncompromising headboard and cricked my neck.

Extra bed attire I think - knee pads for him and a hard hat for me. Or at the very least we must get a new headboard, I need a much softer option than brass ...


  1. Ha,ha. Love your writing style. Blow by blow, just as it happens.
    I once had a largish bed up a narrow flight of stairs. I couldn't even consider removing handrails and doors.
    So, I went to my workshop (sorry hobby-room) and picked up a 24" saw. The divan base was soon reduced to manageable pieces to get it down stairs.
    After all if it is going up the tip, who cares what size it is? Easier for me to heave into the skip.
    The mattress was folded in half and roped up. (to avoid being hit under the chin!)
    This was not my first fight with a mattress.
    Years ago, I remember ringing the council to get them to take a double one away.
    "Twenty five quid Sir."
    "And you must leave it outside by the road, as our operatives cannot enter your premises!" (elf 'n safety)?
    Well, being a pensioner, I didn't like their attitude, or their concern for my poor old back. (my elf n' safety)
    I'll show 'em, I thought.
    I cut that mattress into pieces, each about 18" square, and every week, I put one in the bottom of my wheelie-bin.
    Eventually, after six weeks, the council got my old mattress, and I saved £25. (And I got a warm feeling of 'One-up-man-ship'!)
    The things I do to get one up on the council. :)

  2. Hi Bernard,

    I'm glad you got one up on the council. If you're anything like me, you'd have been muttering gleefully under your breath all the while you were cutting up the mattress.

    Hmm, writing style, not sure if its a gift or a curse. I try to keep my blog posts short - as you can tell - but often drift into the 'blow by blow' method which extends them enormously.

    I did manage to avoid writing the riveting account of himself sorting out his draws ... that would be an entire post on its own.

  3. I'm glad to hear he was sorting out his score and no-score draws,
    - and not your drawers!
    (Please don't ban me for naughty comments.) :)

  4. Julie u need to be on that stage! U daft pair of boggers, my stomach aches for laughing! Carry on Chuckle Bros, Lisa n Andy xxx

  5. Lets have less of the Chuckle Brothers, Lisa ... nowt they do is anywhere near as funny as real life.

    Now, find summat better to do than getting your poor hubby out of bed to read this tripe ...


Be nice, I'm very sensitive.