Like a latter day Little Orphan Annie, yesterdays weather forecaster prediction of “The sun’ll come out tomorrow.” has borne fruit. Consequently, on disembarking from my pit this morning, following successful navigation of the clothing and scatter cushion trip hazards, it was gratifying to open the curtains to feel solar rays caress my hirsute visage.

The lift in spirits manifesting from knowing there’s a day of sun sourced vitamin D infusion ahead, overriding the grumpiness of having to manoeuvre around an obstacle course of haberdashery.

Along with discarded clothing from the previous day, I reveille every morning to a carpet concealed by five scatter cushions, two throws and my wardrobe Nigel. Items which threaten to send me arse over elbow, apart from Nigel whose remit is to stand as target for my habitual big toe stubbing.

To be fair to Nigel, at least he does fulfil the useful purpose of storing my clothing, footwear and back copies of Our Wullie annuals. However, the haberdashery items only use is aesthetic during the day, and carpet ornaments at nighttime. Becoming floor in situ late evening as a consequence of being unceremoniously lobbed onto the bedroom floor, allowing unhindered access to my mattress.

I asked my mum, in whose home I currently reside, if I could remove these items. Arguing they bore no use, introduced jeopardy when floor bound, along with floating the observation their presence added another ten minutes to the act of bed making.

She pondered for a few moments prior to responding “No you bleeding can’t….. This is my house!”

Ok!” I conceded, before adding “In that case can I change the scatter cushions and throws to something more appropriate for a middle-aged man?”

“What’s wrong with having Power Rangers themed bed accessories?!” she questioned firmly.

I’m in my 50’s mum!…. It’s weird!” I argued weakly.


“You didn’t used to complain when Jonny (my son) slept in there, during times me and your dad babysat for the grandkids in the 1990’s” mater pointed out with her trademark eccentricity.

“I know mum, but I wasn’t bloody sleeping in the room then!” I blustered in exasperation.

“Well I’m not buying new cushion covers and bed throws, so you’ll have to live with it!…… I’m not made of bleeding money!” she stubborned cited.

I’ll buy them!” I affirmed.

“No, you’re not wasting your money on bleeding cushions!!….. There’s no point, you might move back out at anytime!” she remained obdurate.

“It’s bloody embarrassing, mum!….. A man my age sleeping in a Power Rangers themed bedroom!” I chuntered in disenchantment.

“Well it’s no more embarrassing than calling your wardrobe Nigel!….. Anyway, no one sees it. What’s the big deal!” mater pointed out tersely.

“So is that your final word on the subject?” I asked almost rhetorically.

“Yes!” barked the matriarch.

“Right then. If you’re gonna be that stubborn I’m not going to make my bed until you relent!…… So you’re gonna have to make it from now on” I childishly blurted at the old lady.

“I do anyway, you lazy little bleeder!!”