Eccentricities

I have many a strange urge. One is to camp out in the house. I don't mean with a tent. The plan is just to sleep in different parts of the house, bed down for the night in the so-called garden room, perhaps, making up a bed close to the French doors so that I'm separated from the garden by some double-glazed glass. The bed would consist of cushions and pillows and, of course, a sleeping bag. 

The routine would be the same as always. I'm not planning on cooking meals on a camping stove or anything stupid like that; I'll eat en famille as always but instead of 'going upstairs' to bed as I normally do, I'll simply bed down in the space I've allotted for myself and just lie there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about whatever I think about and occasionally taking a peak outside at the dark garden. It would be good if there was a lightning storm, although we don't get many in the UK, it would more than likely be rain, but that would be good, lying there listening to the rain on the flat roof overhead. And then, in the morning, after, hopefully, a good night's sleep, I'd get up and make breakfast as usual. Perhaps it's more exciting thinking about it than actually doing it. It might be one of those things I regret. I might not sleep well, it could be cold at night (unless I wait until summer). Of course, if I enjoyed it, I might move around the house, possibly sleep under the dining room table, making myself a little camp under there, or out in the hall, at the bottom of the stairs, like a dog, or just on the sofa, although that would be too 'normal', the sort of thing you might feasibly do anyway, I don't know.

I've slept in all the bedrooms. I've never slept in the porch, that might be a little on the cold side, although we're getting quotes for double-glazing so perhaps I'll wait awhile. The kitchen might prove a challenge. Those hard floors, the humming refrigerator, a dripping tap, I don't know, it might prove a bridge too far. 

I keep talking about buying a tent and camping in the back garden, or getting hold of a bivvy bag; now that would be daring, sleeping like a cowboy in the desert, but the idea of being that exposed to the elements is a little worrying and besides, it's dark out there, I'd much rather be 'under canvas'. Sleeping in a tent would bring untold pleasures; I'd take a radio with me and listen to it all night. I would probably buy a couple of chocolate bars and have a midnight feast all on my own and then, in the morning, there would be sausages for breakfast, cooked on a stove along with a couple of fried eggs and a small tin of baked beans, not forgetting some toast, all of which would come with me, I wouldn't be going into the house, that would be cheating. 

I'd like to sleep on the flat roof of the aforementioned garden room but I'm not sure it will take my weight. The last thing I want is to wake up the neighbours as I crash through the roof and land with a bang inside the house. If it happened, you can bet it would be in the dead of night when everybody had gone to sleep. I could only sleep on the roof in the summer months, preferably one of those uncomfortably hot days we get once in a while. One for the bivvy bag I reckon. Sleeping in the fresh air would probably be the best sleep I'm ever likely to get so it would be worth it for that alone - unless I rolled off and landed in the flowerbed.

People say that sleeping in a bathtub is really comfortable. I wonder. I'd have to set the alarm and warn other members of the household to use the en suite so as not to disturb me if they have to answer the call of nature. I would be quite affronted, in fact, if I woke up and found somebody sitting there, doubtlessly staring at me and questioning my sanity.

When I was a kid I used to fantasise about having one of those steam locomotives that you see in parks on which the driver sits on top, pulling excitable kids and their long-suffering parents behind him. It remains a fantasy to this day, sadly. Another similar train-based fantasy revolves around winning the lottery. If it ever happens, I would buy a big house in the country and install a life-sized fairground ghost train. All house guests would have to ride the train and they would eventually arrive in my living room where I would be waiting for them dressed in a Noel Coward smoking jacket and handing out the Champagne. 

My shaken guests, glass of Champagne in hand, would probably be feeling relieved, having emerged from the ghost train unscathed, and might be thinking the rest of their stay would be pretty normal, but they would be mistaken. Imagine their surprise in the dead of night when heading to the kitchen for a glass of water they discover that I am sleeping at the foot of the stairs!

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