There have been several mentions of blanket bans in recent days – they seem to be linked to those languishing at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Presumably, inmates must sleep beneath a duvet for fear they will knot sheets and blankets together and make good their escape.
This talk of gaol reminds me of a joke I created in Bejam in Epsom (this is before it was re-named after a bankrupt, north Atlantic country – and, indeed, before Kerry Katona was born). I observed that prisoners were served a wide range of vegetables, but were never offered peas. The reason being that there’s no peas for the wicked. (Look, I was only eleven at the time – though to be honest, quality hasn’t improved much over the following decades).
But, that wander down memory lane is beside the point. What I was planning to say was that I fully support a blanket ban. There is only one good blanket in my book, and that is a picnic blanket – and then only when accompanied by a picnic. If you wish to stay warm in bed, there is only one option for the discerning sleeper – the duvet.
I have travelled around a bit on business, many a time and oft spending nights away from hearth and home. Too many of these nights have been spent in hotel rooms with their rather curious bedding arrangements. The continental quilt is far less prevalent over the Channel than its name might lead one to believe. Instead, sheets and blankets are applied to the bed in such a fashion that it is a struggle to insert a sheet of A4 paper between the sheets, let alone a human being. Why do they do this? Is it beyond the wit of man to make a bed and leave sufficient space for a relatively svelte man of middle years to enter in comfort and style? By the time I have broken into my bed, I am left with an untidy heap of sheets and blankets which do not lend themselves to a night of restful slumber.
Have I just turned into Michael MacIntyre? Arghh!
Glimpses of a disturbed mind 