Just changed my bedding, most of which is quite simple, although the fitted sheet and the requirement to turn the mattress took a thing or two. I’m ok with that. But then I square up to the duvet cover. I know there will be trouble, like me being lost inside a load of recalcitrant cotton for enough minutes to miss a whole phone call, eventually emerging with the look of a startled duck. Does anyone else know this duck thing?

Finally, the bed is set, although my arms are exhausted with all the whacking and relocating of duvet endings, none of which seem to agree with this particular cotton, and supposedly double, duvet cover with bloody buttons, none of which match with holes and flaps I never asked for.

I recall working as a chambermaid with the same fury rising in me. Things just refuse to fit. That was my acceptance. The inner may be one size, the outer quite another (plus flaps and buttons). It thinks me about life, about being an human, in my case a woman, which, in truth means a load more trouble. Nonetheless, this inside being more than the outside is a tricky one, and enlightening. If we just knew how impossible it is, and always was, to ‘fit’ any of us into a shape that is acceptable to a world which, or is it that, fits in for the sake of peace (ish), we might tear a hole, or ping off buttons.

Rageous, I know…… and please excuse double spacing. No fricking idea how that happened.