So, now my Timothy of the many multi-tasking heads has caught this virus of mine and he is quite inexplicably annoyed.  I suppose I can understand this to some extent, although I find it more amusing than not.  When he first heard of my two days off work, he insisted on catching the virus too.

“Give it to me!  I want two days off work.”

To which I'd reply:

“Get your own virus!  I found this one and I’m keeping it.”

Indeed, the virus stayed quite loyal to me and didn't seem to want to fraternise with my Timothy or even Bindi.  Instead, he-of-the-multiple-heads spent most of the week taunting me with the lovely breakfast to which his workplace was being treated on Friday morning.  Oh, how he was looking forward to this breakfast.  What wonders would be there!  What fun he would have teasing me with the delights upon which he feasted!

Then, yesterday, he finally caught the virus and was unable to go to this breakfast.

There are my irony dollars, hard at work.  Worth every bit of whatever I paid for them.

In writing news, I’m feeling quite happy about my recent decision.  I read over one of my older stories - the first to do well in a competition, in fact - and enjoyed it immensely.  It’s not perfect, but it’s a lot of fun.  It also served to highlight the one oddness about Black Fiddle that’s always puzzled me, viz. Why is Black Fiddle such a serious work?  All of my other stories and light-hearted and slightly humorous.  If you look at my other major work, The City, you’ll find that it’s quite different in tone.  The good blindmouse can attest to that.

So why is Black Fiddle so serious?  There are flashes of silliness and the occasional line that still manages to make me chuckle, but it’s mostly dead straight.  Maybe that’s something else I have to work on.  Maybe I need to find the humour and silliness and bring it out a bit more.

Maybe I should get right back to those scene breakdowns that were so enthralling me a few weeks ago...

Does anyone else experience that, though?  Do your stories all have a similar tone, or do they vary widely depending on what they're about?  I’d be most interested to know.

On Thursday night of last week, I had occasion to be wide awake at half past two in the morning.  This was due in no small measure to our bed and the decision it made to begin a slow process of completely falling apart and effectively disturbing my sleep.

There I was, blissfully asleep, when part of the rail that holds the slats in place parted company from the frame of the bed.  As is my wont, I assume this was something to do with an on-going argument they had about whose turn it was to stay connected to whom.  Presumably, the rail was no longer able to deal with this and decided to take matters into its own hands (or lack thereof).  Viz., it didn’t want to be connected to anything any more and wished to become closer aquainted with the carpet.

So, cue a length of rail on the carpet, slats denying their allegiance to their own frame to join the rail in its act of insubordination and a Buneater on a distinct angle in her bed in the middle of the night.

My Timothy manhandled the mattress into the lounge room and we slept on the floor there, much to the bewilderment of Pickle.  She decided to sleep on my dressing gown, which I’d thrown onto a chair.

The next day was a public holiday.  My Timothy cleared out the broken bed frame whilst I made macaroni cheese for lucnh.  We slept on the floor that night.

The day after, we went to Euroa to meet my parents, the Boy and the Sonia for a pre-Easter picnic and for the exchange of egg-shaped chocolate products.  There was no time for visiting furniture stores.  We slept on the floor that night.

The next day was likewise a public holiday but as it was also Easter, we were able to console our bedless selves by distracting them with chocolate.  Once more, however, we slept on the floor that night.

The next day, being Monday, was also a public holiday but one in which furniture stores were open.  We traipsed around.  We tested mattresses.  We hid from salespeople when we decided we didn’t want to buy their beds.

Then we found our perfect bed – a mattress and base ensemble that is comfortable and, more importantly, will allow me to watch my DVDs whilst lying in bed.  Although I loved our old bed, it had a ridiculously high rail that precluded the possibility of sprawling oneself on the bed and languidly watching the television screen.  Now I shall be able to do just that!  Also, a good night’s sleep will be had afterwards.

On the down side, we had to wait for the ensemble to be ordered.  Tonight will mark one week of sleeping on a mattress on the floor and waking up to a whinging back.  In some cases, it also means waking up to a cat licking one’s face and grooming one’s hair, now that it’s so easy to reach me.

And then this happens: Melbourne’s biggest factory fire in ten years rips through... a mattress factory.

Why is it I suddenly feel doomed to sleep on a mattress on the bedroom floor for the rest of my life?