Dozy data

April 20, 2016

 

I want to make a confession. Remember when, say 25 years ago, the Amazon started to disappear and 12 zillion pieces of envelope laden bovine emanation fell through your letterbox. So high was the mountain that dogs choked, pensioners died only to be discovered years later underneath - even Chris Bonnington broke out in a cold sweat every morning at the challenge of getting to his pint of silver top.

 

Introducing ‘Basket Weaving the Aboriginal Way’ – this luxury 15 set library is just what you need when marooned and bored in a particularly arid West Sussex hamlet. Or the ‘Which? report on draft excluders’. We blow the lid on the saints and sinners behind the parky ankle prevention industry.

 

YES. IT WAS ME. OH MY GOD! IT WAS ME?

 

Scarred but not beaten, I’d rather gotten used to believing the days of ‘throw enough steaming fertiliser at the fan and watch the splatter pattern’ had gone forever.

 

Foolish boy. Because I (Mr Ian Harrison) now have the opportunity to 'WIN' – wait for it – I said wait for it – ONE OF 12 ADJUSTABLE BEDS! Admit it, you’re bloody jealous. But no ordinary bed this. A bed with ‘over’ (?) 1001 positions. Now I can be as lazy as a zit squeezing teenager, but I’m quite turned on to the idea of building on the paltry 4 basic positions (sleeping I might add) I employ, by adding another 997 alternative configurations to my kipping portfolio. Imagine the interest of those I regale with my new found hobby.

 

MORE. The bed will do wonders for my arthritis, muscular fatigue, water retention, swelling of my legs, hiatus hernia. Exactly where and when did I suggest to anyone that I was (Tick the questionnaire as appropriate):

 

a.     Ordering up my coffin.

b.     Lacking the eye watering kicks in life that only a bed that slowly rises and falls can deliver.

c.     Wanting to be warmed and vibrated by anything other than a willing, adventurous and foxy Mrs H.

 

Or judging by the photos of the ‘oh so happy punters’…

 

d.  Partial to facial hair and/or a women drowned in flowery, seductively down-to-the-veiny ankle nightgowns. Shiver!

 

Side issue. One photo has a bearded wonder with said smirking nightgown wearer. Could she be anticipating what the lad is contemplating doing with the six foot cactus next to the bed? Pervy, but interesting.

 

Now, if this bed could catapult me straight out of bed into a pair of waiting strides Wallace styly – I can see the time saving attraction. If I could spark it up, go through the gears and hop off in good time for the 8.44 out of Hitchin – bring the bugger on. If it could conjure up a rotation of Nicole Kidman, Tyra Banks, Marilyn Monroe (alive), Fatima Whitbread (JOKING) and of course the understanding Lady H as bedtime entertainment – it’s worth a prize draw entry methinks. But…

 

So what was the data criteria? I’m 50 odd (obviously on my last legs. Good thinking). Live in Hertfordshire (high rainfall = aches and pains. Smart). Sleep in beds (cunning devils). Wish to bend at the mid- rift from time to time (I see where they’re going with this). Have a thing for women of an advanced age (I thought I’d destroyed all those pictures)….

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