Tales from my bed.

I often wonder how many more beds will i lie in, will they warm me without a bottle still with me warming my old bones once small fit and healthy. The bed that has been many shapes over the years, my shallow hole in the ground. A net weaved into a bed hanging from two palm trees. Somewhere in a thick dark forest in Scotland.

In my car in the 70s because i fell out with my girlfriend the drink spoiling the night again. The old leather jacket so modern looking cool but not warm now in my old Ford Cortina 2ltre Ghia.

From the concrete carpark on a service station on the M6 so tired driving back from Germany i just slid off my bike took my sleeping bag out and fell asleep next to my bike.

There warm cold soft and hard but the eyes do the same closing to dream of the adventures my pets my family. I often wonder after saying thank you for another day, how many more will i have. Will it be in the hundreds thousands, no one knows.

Will my bed be square like it has always been, will my blankets be still made of cotton, quilt be a Tog rating. Do i just say Alexa change my material or Quilt warmth. It may go up and down massage me, it could in years tell me a story or play my favourite song.

From my wallpaper i used to look at with the pattern repeated all round my small bedroom. It had birds on, Robin Hood, trees and my little brain would image adventures when i grew up.

I counted all the birds had my favourite one to look at. Did You the reader of this my story have a special wallpaper, why can i remember something on a wall in a house 63 years ago.

My bed was small tucked in at night so tight it couldn’t move left or right. Staring out of the window on a summers night listening to the sound of children. Daring to get out only to be heard the floor creaking. The sound of the feet coming up the stairs. Jump back in and adopt the position you were in.

My campervan bed with Ruth opposite and little Jake between us, hi bed changing in shape and size material and colour.

The different ceiling designs colours, some with wallpaper on. Looking up does it need a coat of paint, filling in the cracks, light on as you cant sleep.

The bed that ends up on the skip, the new one delivered and made up with fresh linen on, the Bath bed after you bath and get into the clean covers smelling of any fragrent you want.

Beds made of slats creeking as they wear and take the pounding of two young lovers going through their honeymoon period soon to stop when the quilt wont make a tent anymore. Worn away with thousands of in and out movements.

Beds hearing screams of o my god that was good, light me a cigi. Do you have to go. Cant it wait till morning. Do we have to talk about it now. I wont be hear when you wake up. Nite Nite. Godbless. Dont let the bed bugs bite. Beds hearing laughter crying sobbing, moaning as i dream of that dream again the one that won’t go away.

The bed i made inprints with by resting my elbows on night after night when i was praying for help with me addiction. Saying thank you for saving my son Daniel from a rare illness that he nearly took him from me when he was 2. Only to be saved by me coming home because i heard he was poorly. And the Medicine flown from Guys hospital in London over to Germany.

The bed gone from single to bunk, double, king, super king, camp, trench, van, car, tent, forest, the jetti in the Caribbean so drunk i fell asleep looking up at the sky.

Yes i write this thinking of how many beds will i sleep in until my bed becomes full of white silk dressed in my green camo jacket and pants. My camera on my chest taking the last Selfie.

My bed has many untold secrets the ones we all have that never will be revealed. Ones only you and the bed will know.

I now find curling my legs, bringing them up to my chest is my preferred sleeping position, is that because i am going back to Cheadle and my mum when i was inside her womb. The fetus, safe and warm no worries my %100 innocence not eaten away yet.

I love my bed, lying down at night my head clear clean and full of more ideas, learning and loving to be done when i wake up. Kissing my Beautiful wife Ruth goodnight saying i am do glad i met you. Tomorrow is another Day. Our legs may get old our minds wonder and cant retain things, sight may directorate but we will have love and happiness. Make more memories and why we sip our Hot Chocolate bin bed we talk about how i made you laugh no one had ever done. You told me in our bed in Rossendale that i was the first man to say You Are Beautiful Ruth.

All my tales from the bed, ones worrying about the car i just bought, will i get paid next week, is there enough milk for my tea in the morning. The bed Bella comes to find me in, no Amazon jungle trees to fly in. Just her flock me and Ruth.

My bed now i sit up in and look at myself in the mirror thinking how old i look, the once young man with dark hair now Bald as a Badger.

The tales from the bed will continue.

To be continued.