Beddy bys!

This post is on a very serious matter! Sleeping together. No, missus, not the grungy, sweaty, grindy, slippy, slidey, giggly, grunty euphemism. Nope, simply sleeping together. After all the good (or hopefully bad bits) most of us roll over for some shut eye. I accept, that if your from the younger generation you just wait ten minutes and start again. But, trust me even you'll get tired eventually.

Mind you having said that I do think it's different for the young. We can all remember the times unravaged by too much alcohol, cigarettes, sedentary working conditions, indulgent dinners and stress that we put in our entries for the Olympic shagging qualifiers then rolled over blissfully spent. No snoring, snuffling, bad breath or frequent bathroom visits.

Those of you that know me or that have been following my little efforts at literary immortality are aware that I am currently single. You will also then know, that even at my slightly pre-geriatric age, I do like the "ladeez". Consequently, even this ageing Lothario gets lucky sometimes!

The thing is, it's not my way less than perfect body or my abilities that concern me when that fateful first night together beckons it's the actual sleeping bit. After years of spending every night with the same person and then being on your own again the whole bedroom dynamic changes drastically. For starters if I snore when I'm alone who gives a damn (actually "the teenager" has said she can hear me from her room...oops). If I cocoon myself in the duvet nobody suffers and if I really do have to "let rip" it's only me that has to cope with the aftermath.

Take this weekend. I had met an absolutely charming woman (I know you're reading this so please enjoy the compliment) and the time had come. I refuse to get smutty but suffice to say I actually fell asleep very quickly and slept soundly... for a while.

After about three hours, as a probable result of too much red wine, I awoke with a throat as dry as the driest thing you can think of. Acutely aware of not wanting to disturb I made my best efforts at creeping to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. Once I was up and about it would have been a folly not to use the "facilities" as well. Of course, by the time I was ready to return to the "Land of Nod", I was far more awake than I really should've been.

Then I truly had a problem. I needed to get comfy again. As we all know this involves a variety of tactics. The plumping of the pillows, the "which position do I really prefer sleeping in" and the "how the hell do I achieve all this without waking her!". Needless to say, I did what all proper gentlemen would do, I did nothing but crawl in quietly and plonked myself on my side and waited to drift...and waited and waited.

After what seemed to be about two weeks I must have started to doze off. Unfortunately, at exactly the same time I noticed myself making a particularly unattractive "whistling" noise from my nose. I found this so unappealing, even to myself, that I then started to fight sleep rather than face the embarrassment of trying to explain it. Eventually I lost the fight and succumbed only to wake up screaming (or so I thought) from a particularly horrific nightmare that peculiarly featured "adult child's" ex-girlfriend as the main protagonist.

That was it, I gave up. If Maggie Thatcher could cope with four hours a night there was no reason I couldn't deal with the odd Saturday here and there.

Of course, there is a clincher. About two hours after I'd got up, the lady finally arose. Having related my equivalent of a "somnambulistic assault course" she responded prettily..."Oh Me, I could sleep on a clothesline"... WOMEN GRRR!