So there I was, back in mid-December, suddenly given a moving date a week hence and, having slept on a decrepit old single bed for two years, in need of something a tad more commodious. Not, you understand, that I wanted the kind of nocturnal acreage so popular in the Middle Ages, which would comfortably have slept Henry V111 and his entire Court; I just wanted a farting sack in which I could turn over without falling onto the floor!
The clock was ticking, however, and, given my inadequate command of measurements, a good lead up to any final decision would have been sensible. However, time was a luxury I did not possess – and, with only the sketchiest understanding of what constituted a double, king size, small country size and so forth in the bed world, I went for a handsome appearance!
The bed I settled upon looked lovely – and, indeed, is – and, according to my, as it turned out woefully inadequate, knowledge of centimeterage, was a slightly-on-the-large-side double. I ordered a double mattress with what looked like similar dimensions, and sat back content!
The flats packs duly arrived, three days after I moved here, along with a thickly rolled bundle of such huge proportions that, to my unpractised eye, it could have harboured a couple of houris as well as a lowly mattress. Accordingly – and once Son had put up the bed for me – I unrolled Exhibit A and, risking a hernia, slung it on the bed.
It did occur to me, I will confess, that the fit was not exact – that, in fact, there were gaps at bottom and side which could easily have accommodated a medium-sized family of ferrets and a couple of Maine Coon cats – but not being an authority on the more technical side of mattressage, I assumed that the thing would, er, kind of stretch in time to fill the bed completely!
It didn’t, of course, and, after a few nights of being shifted around the springs as if I were on the Liverpool to Belfast ferry, I stuffed the yawning trenches with old pillows, ancient duvets and a roll of Yoga mat. Like you do!
It finally occurred to me – slow, as ever, on the mathematical uptake – to measure the mattress slot on the bed, and, even more A’level, to compare this with the bed sizes available. My vitals were duly stapped: My bed, masquerading as some kind of ersatz double, is in fact a king-sized one! No wonder the mattress slid around like a loose woman.
Three days ago, I did what I should have done back in December – and organised an exchange (though I’ll need to pay the difference between the two sizes). At some point on this bright and sunny day, a van from Ikea will be drawing up outside my abode and delivering a mattress which obviates the need for pillows and duvets (or ferrets and Maine Coons, if you prefer) and which will allow me a decent night’s sleep without the fear of getting stuck down a crack!
Honest to Goddess, this moving lark is far more complicated that it would appear on the surface – and I have learned one very important rule: If any salesman tells you that setting up a new system/bed/bookcase is easy, disregard the bugger. He will be lying through his teeth, more concerned with extracting your money and getting rid of you than with absolute accuracy.
‘Just plug it in!’ said the Telephone Wallah airily.
Still, I have to confess that the Mattress Mistake was mine and mine alone. If I’d been a bit more anal in the first place, and done my measuring accurately, all this could have been avoided.
Ah well! At least it’s given you this post to read…