The title of this post sums up the the advice that I follow when Robbie is being irritating - a lot of deep breathing goes on in our house! This morning Robbie and I decided that the time has come to buy a new mattress and it is probably about time we had a new duvet and some new bedding as well. It will take a day or two to decide on the best mattress for us, but Robbie wanted to go and choose the duvet and the new bedding this afternoon. So when we had done all the routine jobs that couldn't be ignored, we set off to buy new bedding.
The first problem that we encountered was choosing the duvet. It wasn't as simple as just choosing a king size one, Robbie had to read and compare the information about each type of duvet. He decided on the 'bounce back' duvet - I wonder if that means that it will pick itself up off the floor and bounce back into place when it slips off the bed!
Having chosen the duvet we then turned our attention to duvet covers and that was the way the trouble began. Robbie wanted designs with huge flowers all over them, but I don't 'do' flowers, I wanted a more simple design, stripes or a pattern but not flowers. Robbie moved from one hideous floral design to another and when his powers of persuasion failed he tried insults instead. Apparently I have no taste and I am stuck in the '80s - probably true on both counts, but all the insults in the world would not tempt me to buy a duvet cover covered in flowers.
Eventually he gave up on the flowers and decided that he wanted a duvet cover with embroidered butterflies - no way! More 'negotiations' followed and he gave up on the butterflies in favour of a duvet cover with pictures of buildings on it. Is it too much to ask to want a nice simple duvet cover that will not offend the eye? I used my veto on the buildings and directed his attention to a couple of other designs that I though he would like, they were not exactly my choice but if he liked them I could tolerated them. After in depth negotiations we settled on a design in the style of Cath Kidston, it was a bit fussy for my liking but at least it will not shout at me every time I walk into the bedroom.
I thought we were almost done but choosing a new bath mat proved almost as difficult as choosing a duvet cover!
I often go to bed before Robbie, partly because I need my sleep and partly because I prefer to listen to the radio rather than watch some of the scary stuff that he likes to watch on television. This works quite well for both of us but there is just one problem - Robbie! He doesn't understand the meaning of the word quiet and he always manages to wake me up when he comes to bed. He then falls asleep as soon as head hits the pillow leaving me wide awake unable to get back to sleep and fighting to hang on to the duvet.
On Monday night he decided to take things a step further. He wasn't quite ready for bed but he decided to come upstairs for a chat. He wasn't put off when he found that I was asleep, he just kept asking if I was awake until I woke up. So what was so important that he needed to wake me up at 1.30am? It certainly wasn't something that could be classed as an emergency even in 'Robbie world'. He wanted to inform me that the cat was suffering from flatulence! I told him loud and clear to 'go away' but I wasn't going to escape that easily. He went into great detail about the exact nature of the smell, then he started rambling on about possibly changing the cat's diet. By then I was ready to harm him and he made a hasty retreat.
The next day I asked him why he woke me up and he said he didn't think I was deeply asleep because I wasn't snoring - I give up!!
Robbie is sulking because I have complained about his socks! I am fairly used to his rather loud choice of colours and patterns, but I think things have gone a bit too far. When we went to the park at the weekend I glanced down and noticed that he was wearing his see through Converse trainers with luminous yellow socks, it was a little alarming to say the least. I think he must have chosen those socks to go with his high visibility jacket! That was not the most alarming experience with socks recently, a deeply disturbing episode happened the previous week. I usually go to bed earlier than Robbie - because he prefers to talk to the weird ones on one of his railway forums rather than enjoy my company. Anyway I went to bed just before midnight, I left the bedside light on but I snuggled under the duvet and went to sleep. Considerably later I was woken when something snatched the duvet from above and I was left to freeze. I opened my eyes to see Robbie standing on the bed wearing only a pair of luminous green socks (with orange heels and turquoise toes). He had decided that the duvet needed shaking because he thought it had gone a bit thin at the top and he was genuinely surprised by my furious response. I was ready to harm him!My biggest objection to the multi coloured socks is that they are a pain to wash, I can't wash the yellow ones with the pink ones, and the green ones can't go in with anything else. Worse still he insists on rolling his dirty socks together in pairs, I love Robbie, but I really don't want to get up close and personal with his dirty socks! I think I will get him a wash bag to put his dark socks in, so they will stay together without being rolled up. As for the alarming colours, I can't stop him wearing them, but if they are that important to him he can wash them by hand.
Robbie can be so annoying sometimes. On Saturday night he came to bed late, woke me up, let all the cold air under the duvet and then stole the duvet. I stole it back and threatened him with dire consequences if he did it again! On Sunday night he came to bed at 1.30pm, he woke me up because he made so much noise, then he sat down so heavily on the bed that I almost bounced out on to the floor. Then he deliberately flapped the duvet to let the cold air in and when he got in bed he tugged the duvet away and rolled himself up in it. By this time I was wild and ready to beat him to a pulp, for some reason he found it hilarious and he lay there prodding me and giggling like Mutley from Wacky Races. By then I was wide awake and too furious to sleep, my chances of sleep were further diminished because he continued to be annoying even when he fell asleep, he was making noises like a whale blowing throw it's blow hole. I think I showed incredible restraint, but if it happens again he will be sleeping in the garage.
You know that lovely feeling when you settle down in bed and pull the coves around you ready for sleep? Well it doesn't last long with Robbie around! Last night I was just ready for sleep when Robbie bounced in like Tigger, giving a running commentary along the way. He let all the heat out when he got into bed, then I couldn't get warm again because he kept doing that 'Kenny Everett' thing where he waves his legs around like a dying fly. I was wondering if a couple of bricks in the duvet cover would solve the problem when he settled down and started to list all the railway magazines produced in the UK. It was 2am and I wasn't really interested, but I got all the information, date started, frequency of publication, publisher, price, size, and details of regular content. He went on and on until he got back to the pressing problem of the size change of the Rail Express, I couldn't stand any more so I used the only weapon available to me – I recited poetry to him! My first choice, The Ning Nang Nong by Spike Milligan just made him laugh, so I knew I had to bring out the 'big guns'. Next came Nicholas Nye by Walter de la Mare, that left him quietly confused, so I plunged in with On The Loss of the Royal George by William Cowper. That did the trick, he was begging for mercy. I threatened him with every verse of the Pied Piper of Hamelin by Robert Browning, if I heard one more word about trains, so he made the wise decision to turn over and go to sleep.
Robbie didn't spend a second night on the sofa, but he almost did! The dispute about knickers had been resolved long before bed time, but he has got into the habit of sprawling on the sofa and 'resting his eyes' of course this means that he is snoring within seconds and it is very hard to wake him up. I kept telling him to go to bed but he just got more and more stroppy until fell out with me and I decided that he could stay there. I made one more attempt to wake him and gave up, it was like trying to reason with a drunk. I took myself off to bed and I was surprised to find that Robbie plodded up to bed a few minutes later. He got into bed, then out again, then returned and climbed back into bed and stole the covers. When I say climbed I mean climbed, he trod on me three times! Next time I will leave him on the sofa, at least that way I can be sure of keeping the duvet
Robbie went 'out to play' again this weekend, this time it was a model railway exhibition that demanded his attention. I wasn't overjoyed about being abandoned again but he promised me his undivided attention on Sunday to make up for it. When I woke up on Sunday morning Robbie complained that he was wide awake and then promptly fell asleep and refused to be woken for ages. I just lay there thinking about Kenny Everett, I know that is an odd thing to think about but it was Robbie's fault, his legs seem to have a life of their own and he waves them around to such an extent that he lets all the warmth escape from under the duvet – it makes me furious! Eventually he woke up and finally I got his attention, but he spoiled it by choosing exactly that moment to tell me that he met Pete Waterman yesterday. I have nothing against Pete Waterman, but having to think about him and Kenny Everett before I get up on a Sunday morning is a bit scary!
Robbie is not very good at going to bed on time, he has good intentions but then he either falls asleep over his computer or something on the television catches his attention so he sits down to watch it and falls asleep. On Monday night he was supposed to be on his way to bed, but there was something on television that caught his attention and he sat down again. I settled down to sleep with more than my share of the duvet, Radio 4 for company and just for a change no train noises, railway stories or timetable enquiries. Most people count sheep to make themselves sleepy, but Robbie recites train timetables and routes. When he was watching his DVD the night before there was a clip of Euston Station in the 1970's and it included a brief look at the departures board. Robbie kept rewinding and freezing the picture because he wanted to check the routes and work out the journey times - sad! Perhaps that explains why I treat his occasional absence as a luxury.
I must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing I remember was being woken in the middle of the night by ghostly moaning accompanied by bumping and clattering noises. I was still half asleep and struggling to make sense of what I was hearing when I felt an incredibly heavy weight on my legs that made me want to cry out. Suddenly I was wide awake and the 'haunting' turned out to be Robbie coming to bed. He had fallen asleep downstairs and when he woke up he was in agony and could hardly move. He had half walked and half crawled to bed moaning all the way and when he got there he launched himself onto the bed from my side and landed on my legs. I think I must have expressed my feelings fairly clearly and I must have turned my back on him because I remember one other thing, he tapped me on the shoulder and asked me very politely if he could please have a little bit of the duvet.
I have an exceptionally good sense of smell, it became a bit of a legend among my colleagues. We encountered 'nasty niffs' on a fairly regular basis, not only was I almost always the first person to spot them, I could usually identify the precise cause of the pong with cringe making accuracy.
There have been times when my sense of smell has almost driven me to distraction. When Sam was a bit younger he went through a 'spy' phase and for reasons best known to him he stashed some goodies in the pocket of the sofa valance. Very soon I detected the smell of decaying orange, but despite turning the room upsidedown and pulling all the furniture out I couldnt find the source of the smell. It took days before I descovered Sam's stash which included a very sad satsuma. I seem to remember that when questioned Sam mentioned something about survival techniques.
Robbie has learned to put up with my sense of smell, there is no point telling fibs about what he has had for lunch or if he had a sandwich on the train because I always know. There are certain smells that I can't stand, in particular I dislike the smell of alcohol and the smell of onions. I am teetotal and since we have been together Robbie only has the occasional pint when he goes to a gig. Onions prove a bit more of a temptation to him but he doesn't like the consequences - I won't go anywhere near him. On Saturday Robbie decided to have some cheese and chive pretzels as a snack. As a result he stank of onions, and I couldn't even bear him to talk to me because it was so overpowering. It was so bad that I threatened to sleep on the sofa, but in the end I curled up on the edge of the bed, longing for clean air!
I had a bad night and I was tired the next day. To add to my troubles Robbie was in a strop because he still smelled. It gradually diminished during the day and by Sunday evening I was longing for a good sleep with no onion fumes, unfortunately that wasn't to be. Robbie can't stay still to save his life, it is like sleeping next to a windmill! 'Radioactive Man' constantly claims to be too hot and he waves his arms and legs about in such an exaggerated way that it could be mistaken for a Kenny Everett impression! The end result is that I always have to fight for my share of the duvet, and last night I was constantly cold because he kept fanning cold air into the bed. Today I am going to acquire two bricks (don't worry, nothing drastic!) I just want to weight my side of the duvet down. Failing that I am going to buy a sleeping bag!
