I hate even drinking more than a sip of water in bed. My ex used to love making a huge full English breakfast on Sunday mornings, brought upstairs with a pot of coffee, the dog would bring the Sunday Times up from the doormat in all its many sections, and we’d eat and read the paper with the baby crawling around the bed, David Frost on the portable television. Then eventually the baby had a sibling and another, we’d either have three small children in the bed and their crumbs and spilt milk, or they’d be sent downstairs to “leave us in peace” and I hated that.
Since we split up nearly 30 years ago, I’ve never again had a television in my bedroom, nor eaten a meal in my bed, I don’t even like to read in bed, just sleep!