Nowadays, it isn’t the alarm clock but my bladder that rouses me from my dreams. Sometimes in the early hours, my brain still asleep, my body knows I need to get out of bed and autopilot myself to the bathroom. Normally these moments of somnambulism pose no problem, but in the last week I have slept in four different beds in various houses, most confusing for my inner sat-nav.
At my mother’s house and at my daughter’s, I need to get out of bed on the right-hand side (though depending on which room my daughter has put me in, there may be stairs to negotiate), in my own place and at my friend’s it’s the left-hand side. To complicate matters further, I arrived back from my mother’s (right), stayed one night at my daughter’s (right), spent one night in my own bed (left) followed by a night at my friend’s (left), back to my own home (left), two nights at my daughter’s (right) and back home again (left).
In the pitch-blackness of 3 am this morning, it took me a good five minutes to figure out where I was, which side of the bed to climb out of, and which direction to go in. As I attempted to walk through the wall where the doorway wasn’t, orientation returned and I was able to accomplish my mission with no further mishap.
There’s something to be said for the old custom of a chamber-pot under the bed!