Have you ever had that feeling, you know, when you wake up in the morning and you just lie there. And you know that today is going to be special. You keep your eyes tight shut and you think, ‘When I open my eyes everything will be different.’ You luxuriate in the warmth and the cocoon safety of the duvet. You open your eyes just enough to see the clock through your lashes, luckily you haven’t put on your glasses yet and it’s still dark so you fool yourself into thinking it’s too early to get up. What’s that sound? You hold your breath and listen. It’s HIM. Thankfully gently snoring so he’s not woken up yet to tell you it’s your turn to get up first. You stretch and pull the quilt tightly around you, taking care not to disturb HIM. You blank out the trivialities of the day ahead and just enjoy lying there. You can feel yourself smiling and making little contented noises. You plan what you would do if you won the lottery. Unfortunately reality begins to impinge and you know that today will be just like every other day. HE rolls over and nudges you in the back muttering ‘It’s your turn. I’ll have porridge today.’ The birds begin yelling and shrieking inches away from your ears; do they have no consideration? And the lad from next door but one begins to prepare his Ford Anglia for a moon trip. Time to face reality.

Well that’s how it used to be until, until THAT day.
 
We really need to go back to the night before. Geoff, my husband, insisted that we go to the works ‘do’ at a posh restaurant in town. The company was celebrating its centenary so you can imagine all the pontificating and backslapping. I love my husband but don’t care much for his work colleagues but you know what these things are like, wives have to be seen to be supporting their husbands, especially if they happen to be management - if only just.
 
I hold my hand up, yes I did drink too much. It was boring so what else could I do? Wine always flows much too freely on these occasions. All the other women were good little housewives who talked constantly about children, shopping and their husbands. Luckily when I drink too much I just become sleepy and don’t embarrass myself or my nearest and dearest.
 
When I got home Geoff insisted that I have a cup of coffee to sober up. Unfortunately it had the desired effect and Geoff went to bed leaving me watching some old horror movie on the television. I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up the film had finished and World Championship Darts was thrilling the insomniac population. I fell into bed and remembered no more until…

I woke up.

In my usual fashion I kept my eyes tight shut and had my frequent daydream of ‘what if’. Today it was the big lottery win. There was the Georgian mansion in Shropshire, the apartment in a palazzo in Venice and any amount of designer clothes. I had just agreed to give one million pounds to charity when I became aware that something was strange.
 
I opened my eyes just enough to see through my eyelashes. There seemed to be nothing unusual. What was that noise? I held my breath. It didn’t sound like the usual snoring hulk. It must be the birds. They were pretty big birds if it was them! I decided it must be the wine from last night. You would think that at my age I would learn from experience and give up on the red wine.
 
I pulled the quilt up around my ears and tried to snuggle down and grab another few minutes sleep. The quilt seemed very small. HE must have snaffled it all during the night. Then I heard that sound again.
 
It was water!
 
I shot up to a sitting position and opened my eyes. I rapidly lay down again and closed them!
I peered through one set of lashes to make sure it was just a dream. I sat up again and there, almost lapping at my feet, was the sea. Not the grey, cold North Sea but a turquoise tropical sea. I could hear the wind gently soughing through the palm trees. I am not one for remembering dreams but I was quite enjoying this one.
 
I looked around, the beach was full of beautiful sun bronzed people. ‘I get it’, I thought this is one of those embarrassing dreams where you find yourself in your underwear being presented to the queen. I quickly looked down at my body. I WAS WEARING A BIKINI! There was a very tiny bikini on a fat, cellulite ridden, middle aged body. Even though I knew this was not real I would never be able to live it down. I tried to cover up but there was nothing with which to cover up. I looked down at my body. Where was the fat? Someone had stolen my fat! I tried to grab the spare tyre around my middle; it was impossible there was nothing to grab.
 
I was so bemused by this that I didn’t at first hear the voice next to me. ‘Would you like another cocktail darling?’ It was a lovely, gravelly, sexy voice. I turned my head and there, lying on the sun bed next to me, was Geoff. Now don’t get me wrong. I love Geoff dearly but there are occasions when we all must think our partners would look better with less fat and more hair. The years had been fairly kind to Geoff but he had become slightly portly around the middle and his once dark, thick, curly hair had thinned and turned grey. This Geoff was extremely handsome and very fit looking. I noticed as he went to get my cocktail that a number of women gave him the eye.
 
I was settling very nicely into this dream and hoping that I didn’t wake up too soon.

I don’t know whether you’ve ever noticed but dreams are often very disjointed and odd things happen. This dream was no exception except I have never had one that was so realistic before. I could taste the cocktail, I could smell the sea, and I could feel the sun on my face.
 

‘Fancy a swim sweetheart?’ Now my Geoff, the real Geoff, knows I can’t swim and would never ask me to, but what the hell, this was a dream so who knows what I could do.
I stood up and was aware of the many admiring looks from the men on the beach. ‘You look fantastic in that bikini,’ Geoff murmured. Geoff (my Geoff, abbreviated to MG in future references) rarely notices what I wear, he tells me he sees only the inner woman. I do know he means this and loves me for who I am and not for what I wear. But all women like compliments don’t they?

We ran across the beach, hand in hand, just as they do in the films. I had not a moment’s hesitation about diving in. It was as smooth as silk. I cut through the water like a dolphin with Geoff never far from my side. Why had I never learned to swim? What a fantastic feeling.
Suddenly he disappeared and then came back to the surface holding the most wonderful shell. It was pearly white with a pink inside and an iridescent sheen. MG could swim but couldn’t hold his breath for longer than a couple of seconds and I had never seen him put his head under the water, he even finds it difficult washing his hair in the shower!
 
For a moment I was tempted to rub the shell and wait for the genie to appear but thought better of it in case the whole dream disappeared.

We walked back to our sunbeds and I lay down enjoying the heat of the sun. I rolled over onto my front and Geoff administered copious amounts of sun tan lotion to ensure that my delicate skin was kept safe. Now the last time I had been in a similar situation was the year MG and I went to Cornwall. It was our first holiday without the kids and we both found it quite stressful. After years of building sandcastles, mopping up tears, eating endless amounts of ice cream and generally devoting most of our time to the kids we didn’t know what to do. We got ratty with each other and I stormed off when MG had rubbed half the beach into my back mixed up with sun tan lotion. I suppose I was feeling surplus to requirements.

I was certainly not feeling that way now. "How’s the book going darling?’ That gravely sexy voice again. I looked down and saw that I was reading Proust IN FRENCH! My usual reading habits consisted of Jackie Collins and Gilly Cooper, in English.
 

When I woke up I snuggled down into the comfort of the sunbed. Things felt different.
 
I opened my eyes and found I was back in my own bed. I could remember every detail of the dream and I lay for a few minutes relishing every moment. I couldn’t hear MG snoring and when I turned over to look at him he’d disappeared. On his pillow was a dusty, old, silk rose and a note. ‘You were sleeping so beautifully, I didn’t have the heart to wake you. Love you. G.’

I put the thoughts of the dream to the back of my mind and began to plan my day. Breakfast, shower, housework, shopping, cooking, daytime tele with lunch, read, write some letters, prepare evening meal, talk to Geoff, watch tele, go to bed. Don’t tell me that your day is any less boring than mine! But I did have the memory of the dream and that kept me going for a while.

I suddenly remembered it was bed change day and that definitely drove all nice thoughts out of my head. This is one job that I really hate and I just know that the duvet understands this. I try to vary days and times in an attempt to take it unawares, but it never works. I do think I can fool it by pretending to do something else but it’s wise to all my ploys. It somehow manages to cling to its cover as though stuck by glue.
When I eventually manage it, after a demented ten minutes struggle (OK I do accept that there is a slight exaggeration here), I sit down sweating and exhausted. I feel slightly elated but this is short lived because I know that I have the even worse task of trying to put a clean cover onto the duvet. This is where it manages to get a life of its own. You get one corner of the quilt into a corner of the cover and have just positioned the second corner when the first one works its way out. Remember, there are four of these that need to be positioned. You can feel the quilt laughing at you and saying, ‘Come on. Come and get me if you dare!’

I groaned and set about the task.

I’m sure that your feet are no different to mine but have you ever noticed that bits of fluff from your socks manage to stick to your feet and then deposit themselves in the bed? Well this day was no different but along with the fluff there were grainy bits that looked remarkably like sand and would you believe it, something that was very like seaweed!

I sat down and thought back to my dream, as I did so I absent-mindedly began to take the pillowcase off the pillow. As I moved the pillow I found, nestled into the sheet, the most wonderful shell. I held it to my ear and could hear the sea lapping on the white sand of a tropical beach.

Since THAT day I don’t luxuriate in the bed’s comfort when I wake up but open my eyes wide to see if I have returned to that paradise island. I haven’t done so yet but keep the shell under my pillow, just in case.
 
Do you blame me?