My bed has arrived. As of tonight, I shall no longer be attempting to find the least uncomfortable angle between the broken slats of my once-glorious-but-lately-too-squashed-to-be-any-good futon. No. I shall be reclining in the glorious accommodations of a gigantic mattress, with pocketed springs and all mod cons, on a slatted base, on a terribly fashionable pale oak frame, supported by oh-so-modern little chromed legs. It will, I think, be the first time since I left America last year that I’ve slept in a bed longer than me.

I’ve some serious recreational sleeping ahead of me.

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