There are people out there who would be happier if your bed was smaller, higher and had various appendages. Don't ask me how I know you'll just have to trust me.
If yesterday's image might be construed as rather melancholy that's because I felt that way.
It got me to thinking: I wonder if the factories of Silent Night et al are aware that their days of providing us with large squishy dream machines are instead quite possibly going to be filled with heavy lifting apparatus, hydraulic bed-raisers, rubber mattresses fully equipped with removable commodes possibly surrounded by a glass dome through which people could slip their gloved arms and a teasmade on the outer casing so visitors don't suffer from dehydration.
Sophie Calle's hotel bedrooms would take on a whole new slant. Tracey Emin would never have made her unmade bed. I can imagine future Ad men's Smash men rolling about with laughter pointing at our deep desire for comfort and lack of sensible foresight, with the luxurious double bed of yesterlife as its emblem.
Chances are we will all be awarded a fully equipped home-hospital bed from the moment of our birth just to be on the safe side. Or, to save any inconvenience or wastage and to ensure we are completely aware of our mortality, a full-size coffin to slumber in.