The weekend was most agreeable, for the majority. Something of a small lie-in on the Sunday (neither of us slept well on Saturday night. The cold kept my partner alert, whilst I was deprived of slumber by the lively activities of my over-wrought bladder), followed by a gentle morning and most acceptable breakfast. A delicious roast-chicken dinner, followed by a pleasant walk (blighted only when I failed to heed my partner's advice and took a swim in the icy river. Hmmm. I won't be doing that again in a hurry... My "Little Jasper" has yet to forgive me.) and then a little shopping (£4.50 for a garden broom - can't argue wit' dem apples!).
On arrival back at Chateau Jaspère early in the afternoon, I assisted my partner in a little light gardening. We used our new broom and other devices to tidy the garden; replanted into a border the impressive Antirrhinum which sprang up in the centre of my estate; and planted ALL of our spring-flowering bulbs (which I dutifully promised not to unearth during any potential future fit of pique). I may, however, have no option but to reconsider this last statement. I have been grossly humiliated. Grossly.
My partner changed our bedding last evening. A new bedroom set was given to my partner and I as a joint birthday gift from the normally-reliable Dolores (partner's human best friend). As the last bedroom set was prepared for the washing-machine, this new set was unsheathed from its shiny wrapping as I watched with interest.
Interest rapidly turned to disgust as I saw the abomination being applied to my large, luxurious, berth.
"I am NOT sleeping in that!" I barked, angrily.
"What's wrong with it?!" queried my partner. "I love it - I think it's gorgeous."
"It's PINK!" I spluttered.
"The bed sheet is." replied my partner, frowning at me, as she unwrapped the duvet-cover and pillow-cast set. With a mounting sense of humiliation, I found it difficult to wrest my gaze from the roses and general floral design of the duvet-cover. I felt positively nauseous.
"I REFUSE to sleep in that!" I snarled.
"Jasper - no-one will know unless you tell them. Your friends can't see you when you are asleep!"
"If the curtains were open they could see THAT bed-sheet on Mars." I grumbled.
"Fine, then. Fine." declared my partner crossly. "Be like that. You can sleep on the floor if you feel that strongly about it. Personally, I think it's gorgeous and very pretty. No-one's saying you have to sleep in the bed. You're quite welcome to the floor."
"Right, then. I shall sleep on the floor if you're going to take that tone."
When my partner got into her nice clean bed set, I lay defiantly on the floor beside the bed, glaring at her and wishing all manner of nightmares upon her sleeping subconscious. My stare burned into her, so she turned her back on me and faced the wall, wrapped in her new-covered duvet.
I lasted about six minutes. It may have been as many as seven, but certainly no more, when I felt the draught - so welcome during the summer yet chillingly icy in winter. It seemed to get right into my bones. There was only one solution (much though it grieved me to admit it).