The Princess And The Penis

Fussiness is in the eye of the beholder.

I say, if the damn sheets are too noisy, the damn sheets are too noisy.

How is that achieved though? Noisy sheets. They should be roolly nice, what with their luxurious thread count and all, but they're not. Every time Emergency Contact turns over, I wake up thinking someone's breaking into the house.

Once, a tour guide came to pick me and EC up from a luxury hotel in Tasmania. We were going to Maria Island for a picturesque walk through the wilderness, a tour of the facilities and a lovely meal. She came into the stunning B&B looking around in appreciation at the surroundings, the art collection, the deep shag pile, the interior garden in the dining room, all that, and asked what it was like to stay here.

"The sheets are really noisy." I said. I'd had a particularly crap night's sleep.

It was accidentally the right thing to say in the situation, I think. Rather than looking at me like some sheltered and swaddled city slicker who was now going to make a day of bushwalking difficult, she looked at me like an engagingly idiosyncratic person who was going to take a different slant on life and turn the day into a thoroughly interesting one.

That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

(No really, we did get on very well. Even though she did have kind of noisy hair.)