Tag: sleeping

7 Reasons That The New Duvet Is Awful

At 7 Reasons (.org) we like to think of ourselves as lifestyle writers; authors of a self-help guide to modern living. But occasionally, something so calamitous occurs in one of our personal lives that we can think of nothing other than that event and are compelled to write about it, even though we’d rather be thinking and writing about something (anything) else. Such an event has occurred. In the past week, my wife purchased a new duvet. It is one of the worst things that could have happened. Here are 7 reasons why.

1. Light. It’s dark under the new duvet. Whether it’s actually dark or not. It’s so dark that the exterior of the duvet could be next to the sun, or next to something as dark as the sun is light (the unsun? The un? ). It wouldn’t matter. Because underneath the duvet, it is always pitch black: Unless I was to take a torch under there. Though possibly even then. There is nothing darker than being under the duvet, except for being inside Piers Morgan’s soul wearing a black hat, a bin liner and a pair of sunglasses. Though how you would find yourself in such a situation, I don’t know. It would be quite unfortunate.

2. Weight. The duvet is heavy. It’s heavier than…well…everything; and it’s definitely the heaviest thing I’ve ever been pinned to a bed by. It’s like an enormous weight is pressing down on me all the time I’m beneath it (which may be slimming, who knows?). When I tried to complain, what I said came out as gibberish because of the heavy weight pressing down on my face. But that didn’t matter, because…

3. Under The Duvet, No One Can Hear You Scream. There is no sound under the duvet. This is bad, as I like to listen to the radio while in bed – it prevents me from thinking, which is what usually gets me into trouble, so it’s quite essential – but the moment I put my head under the duvet, all sound stops. All of it. Which would be handy if I were in a room with James Blunt, but I’m not, I’m trapped in a room with my own thoughts. Which is much like being back in Piers Morgan’s soul again but I can wear what I like and there’s tiramisu.

4. Heat. It’s hot under the duvet. Hotter than anything. I have no idea exactly how many togs the thing contains, but I know this: Togs are hot, and the new duvet has bloody loads of them. I have actually broken into a sweat just by lying under the thing, not moving, in a cold, draughty house in the winter, when the temperature outside was -13. It was then that I decided the remedy to my overheating would be to lift the duvet to let some air underneath.

5. AAaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!!!!! And that turned out to be a sensation like being punched in the solar-plexus by an angry ‘roid-enhanced snowman. Twice. It turns out that there was at least a thirty degree difference between the temperature in the room and the micro-climate beneath the duvet. Still, at least my screams didn’t wake my wife, as my head was beneath the duvet and her head was above it, so she couldn’t hear them.

6. Time. Under the duvet, you have no inkling of what time it is. None, whatsoever. There’s just no way of telling. I can’t hear the radio, and there’s no way of telling that it’s time to get up (alarms, bin-men, toasters, a hungry cat etc), nor is there any daylight or any climactic indicators (it’s just always the temperature of boiling stuff). I could take a timepiece with me, but who wants to roll over on a clock in the bed, or get the bracelet of their watch caught in their hair and have to cut it loose? I don’t want to make that mistake again, thank you very much. Because doing that for a third time would make me look foolish.

7. Air. It is impossible to breathe under the duvet, which is a shame, as it’s something of a hobby of mine. No air penetrates the dense, heavy material that the duvet is constructed from (some sort of downy molten concrete?) and all air that was originally there is forced out by the sheer weight of the thing pressing down on the bed. I’m not sure if this lack of air counts as a vacuum, but the new duvet certainly sucks.*

*7 Reasons (.org) will return tomorrow but may not be back the following day as I may die a hideous death under the duvet of doom.

December 13, 2010
7 Reasons to Have a Lie-In

1. Avoid The Sun. Spending an extra hour in bed in the summer means that you avoid an extra hour of exposure to the sun, This is a good thing. The sun gives cancer; the sun gives burn; the sun can cause blindness. It’s a hazard. When people are exposed to the sun, their skin warms and darkens like that of a chicken in an oven. This is because the sun is slowly cooking us, though for what nefarious purpose, I cannot begin to speculate. The sun is evil: Stay in bed and avoid it.

2. Regress. Being a grown-up is not always fun – I am told – and sometimes a return to more infant-like-state is just the tonic that an adult needs. Being in bed is oft compared to being in the womb; naked, yet protected, insulated from the outside world by the smothering, security of the duvet. It’s better than that though. Being under the duvet is also like being in a den. And what better place is there for your inner-child than a den?

3. Mornings. The morning is the wrong time to be up and about. It’s the time of day when you stumble around bleary-eyed trying to pour coffee and multivitamins into yourself in an attempt to feel vaguely human, and usually fail. The morning is full of dull events like selecting a shirt; commuting; the consumption of muesli; junk-mail; conversations about last night’s television. If you lie-in though, you suffer less morning and you’re more alive and alert when the best part of the day comes; the evening. All of the best, most glamorous and wondrous things happen in the evening; award ceremonies; parties; dining out; gigs; owls; theatre performances, they’re all things that happen at the better end of the day that you shouldn’t be too tired to enjoy.

4. Plans. People plan things, it’s what we do. You probably had today already mapped out before you went to bed last night. But plans aren’t a good thing: The CIA planned to assassinate Fidel Castro; Hitler planned World War II; the VCCP agency planned the Compare The Meerkat advertising campaign; an idiot planned Milton Keynes. If you spontaneously decide to lie-in, you say “no” to plans and liberate yourself from their fiendish tyranny.

5. Toast Avoidance. One of the hazards of mornings is toast which, for some reason, doesn’t exist after 11am. Stay in bed: Avoid toast.

6. Romance. You don’t have to lie-in alone, you can share your den…er…bed with someone else. You can even have breakfast-in-bed together. Not toast, obviously, as the crumbs will get everywhere and could be physically painful: Imagine trying to sleep on a toast-crumb covered pillow. But, even if there is toast, it’s still quality time with a loved one, and that must be a good thing.

7. Health. Sleep debt is the name for a cumulative lack of sleep. It is said to shorten life. So, logically, for a longer life you should be in sleep credit. A lie in will help with this. You can also become immortal by sleeping for 24 hours per day – though modern science is yet to cotton on to this – which, ironically, would make immortality almost exactly like death, but without the flowers. Or I may have dreamt that last bit during a lie-in, I’m not certain.

June 3, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Share a Bed With Me

Hi, I’m Marc. I’m half of the 7 Reasons team – the one with the feet. Some of you probably imagine that after a long day on the 7 Reasons sofa, in the manner of Laurel and Hardy or Morecambe and Wise, Jon and I put on our jim-jams and nightcaps and retire to the 7 Reasons bed for some hard-earned slumber. This is not true, please un-think it. The reality is, in fact, more bizarre than that.

I would just like to make it clear that today’s 7 Reasons post is not 7 reasons that you shouldn’t share a bed with our website, and it isn’t 7 reasons that you shouldn’t share a bed with Jon (you’ll probably have your own reasons for that), it’s 7 Reasons that you shouldn’t share a bed with me – sorry if that upsets any plans.

1. Reading. I read in bed. My bedtime reading matter of choice is often a large, heavy, hardback biography or a similarly weighty historical tome. Consequently, holding a book tires my arms – especially when I’m fidgeting (I do a lot of fidgeting) between positions. At some point I will use the nearest person as a book-rest – their head is the most practical place to rest my book as it is at my eye-level. I’m told that this is annoying.

2. Decapitation. I like to have two pillows to myself – one placed on top of the other. In my struggle to get comfortable/block out sound/block out light/keep my head warm/move into the night’s eighty-third position, I often place my head between the pillows. I find this position comfortable. If you wake up sharing a bed with me, you will briefly believe that you are sharing the bed with a headless man. This will startle you. Every time.

3. Radio. I listen to the radio in bed – BBC Radio 5Live’s Up All Night programme – it keeps me informed, educated and entertained while I am failing to sleep. This is fine until 2:40am on Wednesdays. That’s when Cash Peters is on. That’s when the sound of my (poorly) stifled laughter will wake you up. You will probably wonder why tears are streaming down my face; you’re likely to wonder why I’m biting the duvet (this is for your benefit, you’re welcome); you may wonder if I’m having a funny turn; you will definitely wonder if the spare bed is unoccupied.

4. Soft toys. If I should find a cuddly-toy in, or even near, the bed, I feel compelled to tuck it in. If you are not expecting to wake up flanked by a slumbering bear, a recumbent penguin, a sleepy elephant or a dozing handbag (I get confused in the dark), it can be quite disconcerting.

5. Curling. Not everything I do in bed is annoying. I often curl up into a tiny ball under the covers. This hampers my breathing somewhat, so I fashion myself a small air-hole in the side of the duvet and poke my nose out through it. This, I am told, is one of the cutest things in the world. And it probably is, right up until you try to move my painstakingly-positioned sheets. Then you’ll find yourself involved in a life-and-death tussle for control of the duvet. And I always win.

6. Experimentation. During the night many important questions will pop into my head, prompting me to experiment on the nearest sleeping person. What if I poke my finger in her ear? What if I blow in her eye? What if I drip water on her forehead? What if I tie her hair to the headboard and shout “Boo!?” What if I loudly mimic her breathing pattern for several minutes then stop abruptly? What if I coo like a pigeon and flap the top of the duvet around? The possibilities are limitless.

7. Sleep. Eventually, I will wear myself out and fall asleep. Don’t think that’s where the fun ends though. It’s then that I think up entire 7 Reasons posts that make no sense at all and get chased around the house by a horse. As I flee the dream-horse my legs will flail and I may emit noises – I might even say, “Crikey, a horse!” again. I have also been observed barking like a dog and trying to dig a hole in the mattress with my front paws…er…hands. I meant hands. By this stage, you may not know what time it is, but you’ll probably decide that it’s time to get up, which is great as I’d love a coffee.

March 4, 2010