Just over a week ago, a smartly dressed lorry driver (he wore a tie under his v-neck jersey!) and his less-smartly dressed, yet quick to smile, and seemingly quick in all manner of ways – unlike the lorry driver who, although very nice and smartly dressed came across as a bit dim – packed up my worldly possessions. I sat on an orange sofa. A sofa-bed, to be more exact. A sofa-bed that, in its life with us, was probably used more for its bedding than its soffing*.
It was a good sofa-bed. We bought it at Habitat when we finally got around to outfitting our flat the way we wanted it. To say that the sofa bed was orange is to do it a disservice. Its fabric was a thickly-woven, soft-netting type of fabric which added texture, which in turn softened the orange of the orange by adding shadows in its texture.
Yes, it was a good sofa-bed. As a bed, it was initially quite comfortable. It pulled flat over internally hidden slats, more like a futon than the old-fashioned sofa-beds of my youth. Consequently, it didn’t have that uncomfortable hump-lump that cuts perpendicularly across your lower back that most sofa-beds have. It served the miscreant, Spanish boy** who lived with us for a year whilst he didn’t go to school in London***.
It served the CBF well when she was in-between living situations. The Dog loved the orange sofa-bed because it was the only human bed she has ever been permitted to occupy. (She was not permitted on the orange sofa-bed when it was in sofa form.) After the Spanish boy and the CBF and innumerable visitors, the bed of the sofa-bed became less and less comfortable as body-shaped dips began to haunt the fabric of the orange sofa-bed.
We decided to part with the orange sofa-bed upon the day of our move from London. That is why I sat on it whilst the movers packed up my worldly possessions. The orange sofa-bed was left behind.
Now, just a week and a couple of days later, I wait for the movers on the other side. There is nothing upon which to sit, but a hard wood floor, which was, thankfully, mopped yesterday.
*Not a word.
**The miscreant, Spanish boy is now a well-meaning man and The Dog Walker.
***Can't seem to find the post where I wrote about it, but I'm sure I did. No?