You know, in a bracing “my cheeks have just been buffed by a salty sea wind” sort of way. But still freezing, nevertheless.

I’m sleeping on a futon - which is, I think, my little sister’s way of getting back at me for making her sleep on the lumpy futon from hell in my flat in London last month. Oops.

The futon in the spare room of my mum’s house up here is, like all other uncomfortable futons, for most of its working life actually a sofa. As a sofa, it’s marvellous. Long, comfy, arms - pretty much everything you could desire in a sofa, really. As a bed, however, it leaves a girl hankering for her own bed, it really does.

See, the futon, when folded out, gives the impression that it has been slept in by two rather - what’s the word they use these days when they’re trying to be polite - statuesque? - well, chunky anyway - heffalumps, who liked to lie on the matress, motionless, side by side, with about eight inches between them. There’s a big dip on the left, then a pronounced ridge in the centre, and then another big dip on the right, before the edge of the bed.

I’m only aware of this because while I already knew the futon was slightly uncomfortable because Paul and I used it when we came up in September - we each had a side of the bed, and that was fine.

Now, sleeping alone (feels very odd, by the way), I find myself naturally gravitating to the centre of the bed. That’s what you do when you find yourself alone in a double bed, no? Anyway. The middle of the bed is a ridge, and monumentally uncomfortable. Like trying to sleep on a fence, only covered with a duvet, and without the possibility of splinters. The only way to avoid the ridge is to lie in one of the dips - but you must face inwards, towards the middle of the bed, as I discovered in the wee small hours of the morning, when, facing out, the entire bed overbalanced on one side and tipped me out. Nice.

Actually, now I come to think about it, I seem to remember that P and I ended up putting the futon mattress on the floor to avoid the same tipping danger. Hmm.

Anyway, tonight, I think I’ve cracked it. I’ve folded spare blankets and laid them in the dips. There’s a spare duvet on top of those, and then a sheet (very scandanavian). Then I’ve got me (in socks), my hot water bottle, and then two duvets, a blanket and a bedspread. I feel a little like a robin lining her nest for winter.

The north wind doth blow
And we shall have snow
and what will the robin do then? Poor thing!

It’s not snowing here (yet), but it’s only a matter of time. There’s a fierce north wind rattling the windows (and my teeth), and apparently the north of England already has snow. I wish I was there - though not for the weather; for the company.

Time go go and hide my head under my wing, I think. I’ve got a cold nose.

Update, later:
I’m not going mad, and I’m not having a Princess-and-the-pea moment.

Those massive uncomfortable dips in the futon? Well, in the wee hours of this morning, in the process of remiving the matress to fluff it up, I discovered that the actual bed frame is broken and four slats had popped out of place.

Which would explain, you know, why I was sleeping in a hollow.

Mattress now on floor = colder, but much more comfortable. Oh, the trials of island life.