Hard to believe Christmas was already three weeks ago, isn't it?

We had a quiet one. Kids descended on us from all parts of the country and we ate and drank too much and opened a whole load of Secret Santa gifts.

If you asked me right now I couldn't tell you what we each got. I'm thinking I got a T-shirt which says "My Wife Is A Hot Nurse" but can't swear to it. Come to think of it I must have got that. There's one in my closet, and I'm pretty sure I didn't get sloshed and go out and pinch it.

So, anyway, the point is, as nice as it was, the memory of last Christmas is fading fast.
All except the existence of several mattresses in our house, that is. And that is the point of this, my first piece for 2019 ...

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Regular readers of my scribblings will recall how, over the last few years, we have been steadily downsizing.

We would like to explore a life on the road in our bus but, for a variety of reasons, it's not something we can just do. So, we are taking the time to divest ourselves of bits of furniture. Including beds and mattresses.

Boomerang Child and her bloke, Builder Boy, are about half a year into first-home ownership and we gave them a whole load of furniture, including a bed and mattress.
That left us with one spare mattress should anyone come to visit.

A mate rang in a panic prior to Christmas following the unexpected arrival of some guests asking if we had a spare mattress. We did. So he came and got it.

That left us with no mattresses but no worries either. For a brief moment.

Now, initially, it had looked like Mrs P and I would be having a quiet Christmas, but then things changed and the entire tribe, with partners, decided to come home for the big day plus a couple either side.

I couldn't very well go and ask my mate for the mattress back I had just lent him so I did the ringaround thing and contacted The Boys — that fine group of gentlemen every male has who can help with anything from labour to relationship advice.

Eventually the Scottish Plumber came to the rescue.

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Yes. He had one. But it was a king-size and a brute to move. I'd have to get a trailer and he'd have to help me lift it. With no other options available, we did just that.

Two things.

First, the Scottish Plumber is not prone to understatement. It was a brute to move. And by the time we had shifted it we were exhausted, sweaty ... and thirsty.

Secondly, the Scottish Plumber likes a drink. Several in fact.

So after our exertions, I felt obliged to assist him in his desire to rehydrate so, to cut a long story short, I did.

Needless to say, the next day, when I located a second mattress, all I wanted to do was lie down and die on it. It took a major effort of concentration to get it in place but, once done, all was well in the kingdom.

Mrs P and I decided not to tell the kids about the mattress dramas. We didn't want them feeling bad.

I would have liked to have had some help returning the mattressses after Christmas but Mrs P came along for the ride to keep me company. And presumably to make sure the Scottish Plumber didn't trick me into alcohol consumption again, the evil man.

Anyway, I huffed and puffed and returned the two mattressses and the trailer and then we drove home talking about our plans for the bedrooms now we had no beds and mattresses in the way clogging things up.

But my heart sank as I drove up the driveway and saw a mattress propped up against the front door under the covered porch.

On it was a note from the kids. They had been out shopping and bought a new bed and didn't need the mattress any more. We could have it back.

Two guesses who had to manhandle it inside.

Your own tales and feedback are welcome on kevin.page@nzme.co.nz