The old one, a massive black and twirly, aluminium-framed, bent-legged monstrosity, which we'd bought in a moment of over-excitement in some faceless bed emporium when we first moved in, (me forgetting to measure the bedroom first), had been squatting, like a giant bug in the centre of the room, leaving all of 12 inches of floor space at the foot end; the only path to the "littlest room".
By the light of day, it looked innocent enough. Just a bad choice really; an overly massive bed in an overtly small bedroom.
But occasionally, when darkness fell, if taking over the entire floor space was not bad enough, it would malevolently stub an unwary passing pinky. Or snag you on the jim jams* as you squeezed past, leaving you dangling, cross-legged, flailing helpless and whimpering, caught on an ornate metal curl, at 3 o'clock in the morning.
And so it had to go.
And what better choice of somewhere to rest your weary head, than a bed made entirely out of sleepers?
Railway sleepers to be precise. But not the ex-British Rail, bitumen-covered, slightly adorned with used loo roll, kind. But newly sanded, beautifully burnished, hand-waxed ones.
Hewn by craftsmen, and not by horny-handed, chainsaw-wielding Navvies.
(Actually I made that last bit up, but only because I am trying to impress upon you, just how lovely these sleepers, made for, well....us sleepers, actually are).
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| The real Low Pro bed installed, and terribly dog friendly |
For these are the folk I came across, on my journey across the world wide web, searching for "chunky", "wood" and "bed," which is what I had set my heart on.
I figured anything originated by good old Mother Nature was less likely to try to bite you in the bedsocks, when you really needed a midnight widdle. After all, if she didn't understand the call of nature, who wood? (Excuse the pun, I couldn't resist it).
Anyhoo, we ordered, paid up, and our new purchase arrived, delivered by a very helpful, and terribly strong-armed gentleman, whose limbs were impressively as big and wide as the sleepers he carried single-handed up our tiny stairs and manoeuvred into place with his legs. And finally, our new bed was installed, much to our joy.
But more so, to the delight of the Small Brown Dog, who had reached the time of life, when jumping Gazelle-like onto the giant "bed-bug" had become more difficult and prone to failure on first go, and required several less balletic attempts, to get it right.
He was ecstatic to learn that he could pretty much roll onto our new "Low-Pro" bed and install himself in the best spot, the centre obviously, and legs stretched to their full extent, languorously sprawl across the superking-sized mattress and yet, still manage to look affronted when we tried to get in too.
A year or so later, nothing has changed.
He's still snoring happily, stretched across our giant bed, taking up most of the room. While we, hang off either side, heads lolling, supported by the wide wooden base, unwittingly buffing the patina up with our faces, as we sleep.
This week I embarked on the mini version. Sans sleeping Small Brown Dog....
When shown photos, Mr PJ became confused as to which one he should be sleeping in.
Which I can only take as a compliment. But seeing as the miniature version is 1:12 scale and he is over six feet tall, it is likely his feet will stick out the end.
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| The Mini House version.... the very Low Pro. 17th Century Diarist Samuel Pepys often signed off his diary entries "And so to bed". Had he had a sleeper bed methinks his diary entries may have been somewhat shorter, as he may never have left it in the first place! |
I have yet to make the mattress but that is another story......
*Pyjamas. Stop making up your own jokes.
