Sally-Part 69. MRS. BELCHER'S BOSOMS- PART 3

SUPERIOR TO ME IN EVERY WAY AS THIS ACCURATE DRAWING BY GEMMA ILLUSTRATES !

According to the temperature gradient for last night as shown on several hundred weather forecasts that Shirley had checked over the course of many days, it wouldn't be colder than thirteen degrees centigrade and Shirley requested that I changed the quilt cover from polyester to cotton to prevent her sweating to death under a minus seven tog filling.

I had carried out the pre-change formalities of pulling the bed no more than one inch from the wall before refitting the external lagging foam to the bed leg nearest the toilet to ensure Shirley not ending up in some pain with the leg lodged between her big and second toes on her return from any of her nine trips to the loo during the night although of course I should have waited until I'd pushed the bed back in before carrying out that particular procedure which makes sense doesn't it, if you're still awake at this point in my tale and was standing with the replacement quilt cover inside out and concertinared along my arms with my hands holding the corners of the quilt from the inside before flipping and shaking it expertly for only thirty minutes when I heard, " Hang on ! The temperature's going down to twelve according to the South West Scotland forecast so you'd better leave the polyester one on! "

So with a jaunty, " Ok darling ! " and a jolly whistled tuneless tune, I refitted the first cover before pushing the mattress back fully to the headboard, checking that I had not disturbed the total flatness of the quilt that fits UNDER the mattress cover that now won't fit properly because it's straining against the under-quilt and smoothing the valance that also doesn't fit properly for the same reason before forcing the 'fitted' sheet over everything else whilst secretly clenching my jaws and growling a silent sneer of contempt before apologising when reminded that if there's one thing that Shirley can't stand it's whistling, especially tuneless jolly tunes !

And then I watched a football match on the telly for the first time in ten years.

England just beat Ukraine when Rooney, playing in my own favourite position of ' Poacher ' headed the only goal in a quite good game. But why oh why does he get paid a quarter of a million pounds a week ? How stupid are the fans to think that he or any other sportsman is worth five hundred times more than most people earn ?

And why oh why do actors and so-called stand-up comedians who are rarely even vaguely amusing and are simply people who can pull faces and remember lines earn millions of pounds ?

I wasn't first into bed last night but had I been I would have been snugly asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow and then wide awake when challenged abruptly about whether I'd pushed the mattreess fully back and then definitely even wider awake when Shirley shook the quilt fanning a blast of freezing air over my frozen feet and telling me to pull more quilt over my side, which I simply don't understand why I have to, before getting in and warning me not to dare to pull the thing off her again, ever and  pushing her frozen thighs between my legs, calling me a wimp if I dare to complain when my conkers feel like they've been immersed in liquid nitrogen !

WE HAVE NEVER ARGUED ONCE IN FORTY YEARS !

If I even dare to try to do the same thing to her with a much smaller part of my person a low growl warns me off !

And then as I drift back to sleep, making sure my head's not touching the headboard and don't ask why I hear," Feet ! Put them down ! They're making a tent and  the great long things are keeping the quilt off mine !"

Well I'm long and before curling up into a ball start the night on my back with my feet steepled as in prayer so being told to flatten them means adopting the fifth ballet position which does not come easily to me and causes great discomfort in the knees and ankles for the thirty seconds before my next instruction which is monosylabically, " Neck !" and have to turn on my side to massage a specific point just to the right of her neck that I invariably miss by one millionth of an inch and get told " Either do it properly or don't bother ! " as if I'm the benficiary of it ! And then I hear, " Back!" and reach down to the aching bit in the small of her back which I work until, "Left calf !", "Right thigh !", "Neck again !" and now finally wide awake and aware that I am lying next to a naked female who is now fast asleep reacts as any man would only to hear, " Go to SLEEP !"

Shirley's nights are spectacularly awful as she sleeps rarely and then only for a few minutes at a time because I roll over and pull the entire quilt off her, leaving her naked and with her body temperature fallen to somewhere near boiling point !

She then rips it off me, which I don't feel as once asleep I do not stir for at least eight hours and spreads it over the two of us'

She'll then doze before re-awakening to find me curled up like a dormouse wrapped in the entire quilt again !

Apparently this goes on all night until she gives up and gets up at five thirty !

I'll stagger in at nine yawning my head off asking her why she's up so early .

Normally at home, where we have electronic reception she would have already checked out Josh Groban's latest Tweets and showbiz gossip and be keen to show me some four hundred identical photos of him and his new girlfriend on the red carpet at yet another award ceremony and I would look and say comforting things like, " She looks like she could be his sister " which reignites her own hope for her chances of marrying him !

I think we ought to try single beds !