Lay Lady Lay

Bob Dylan has a lot to answer for, well listening to his drawled lyrics during my formative years is the only explanation I can think of for my obsession with beds, mostly ( though not exclusively)of the big brass variety.....

I write this lying in one which is so high I have considered using steps to get in ( and I may soon have to when my ancient joints no longer allow me to vault in)

How many 18 year olds use their first full time wages to buy two decrepit Victorian brass and iron bedsteads and then spend many a cold Saturday in their Parent's garage carefully restoring them? ( I obviously had such an action packed social life!)

one of mine....

In my defense I can say that I sold one of them many years later at 500% profit, a margin I've kept up to this day with various ones that I have bought ( sometimes used) then sold on -thank you E bay! including two 19c iron ones , one French,that I sold this week,

In my time I've been in and out of many beds ,( some of which might have been better unvisited) and I always wonder, if they are an old one, what secrets and stories they could tell, for surely beds share our most intimate secrets? From birth to death with all those hours, filled with tears, smiles, kisses, pains and dreams we spend in them in-between , a third of our lives.....

For me though the bed I'm fondest of is now on the other side of the world with my Sister, given to her when I thought I should make a fresh start, the trouble being I miss all those secrets and joys we shared for so many years. ( both my bed and with my Sister)In restoring it from a rusty ruin destined for the scrapheap it's somehow as if we became entwined and my hopes and dreams imbued that perfectly ordinary Victorian bedstead...oh that I had had an attic big enough to store it while I came to my senses...... I wonder how much it would be to ship it back......?