I was lying in bed the other morning, scrolling through Facebook, reading the news, as the heat of the electric blanket seeped through my long white nightgown and warmed up my frozen feet.
I posted something funny online, and The Chef wrote a message underneath. “I know where you are,” she said. “You’re lying in bed in your long white nightie.” Well of course I am, I responded. Where else would I be on a freezing February day at eleven O’clock in the morning?
For a long time I felt guilty about my winter hibernation, but as I hurtle towards midlife (I’m not actually hurtling towards it, I’m firmly in it but I shall continue to pretend for as long as I can), I am finally managing to accept that when it is cold, and gloomy, and snow is on the ground, the most comforting place to be is in bed.
Every now and then I will read an article about the importance of good sleep habits. The number one rule is to keep all technology out of the bedroom. Turn your bedroom into a retreat – no phones, no ipads, no television. The blue light from the television and the white light from our screens apparently causes havoc with our sleep patterns.
Do not read in bed, they say. Never eat in bed. Use your bed for one thing, and one thing alone: sleep (maybe two, I will grant you, but that’s another column entirely).
I think about this from time to time, as I study what has gathered on my bed on those days when I choose to stay in it during the winter months. There is invariably one plate and one bowl, precariously stacked on the side table, waiting to be knocked over by an eager cat in search of crumbs.
There are stacks of books piled on same side table, plus on the floor, plus a few on the bed. There are often magazines. There is always an iphone, with an ipad too, just to add some variety. There are headphones for listening to podcasts. There is usually a cat or three, sometimes five, on the bed. There is a notebook, and an assortment of pens. There is sometimes a child, but rarely more than two. On a very rare day, there will be a laptop for writing, but my writing tends to happen in my office rather than in bed.
Friends will send messages inviting me out, and I will make up excuses, generally involving work. Those who know me very well know that my only excuse is that I am in my nightie, in bed, and it is so warm, and cozy, there is nowhere else I would rather be.
When the sun starts shining again I shall be up and about, cooking, writing, running around. But until then, I’m turning the electric blanket on and climbing back in.
(First published in The Lady magazine)