Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
It was with a certain amount of dismay when I watched the weather forecast this morning that I noted a rise in nighttime temperatures. Now, this might surprise some people, particularly as I sleep with a bedroom window wide open regardless of how cold it gets, but I’ve needed to feel a flow of air in the bedroom since I was a child. And, I confess, the chillier it is, the better. I remember my mother telling me that even as a baby, whatever I was dressed in at bedtime, she’d find me completely naked and as God intended by the morning. Nothing has changed.
I loathe the restriction of night clothes, trying to turn over and finding you can’t because your nighty has pinioned you to the mattress like sticking tape, akin to an over-wrapped parcel. On a side note, has anyone else noticed the recent move to literally smother all parcels in brown sticky tape, so that, with arthritic fingers, it’s impossible to get into them? Or is that just me?
On the odd occasion when I’ve had to stay in hospital, I’ve had to feign sleep, waiting for staff to disappear so that I could whip off my nighty and shove it under the pillow where I can grab it come morning. I’ve always found hospitals unbearably hot anyway, so adding some kind of body covering and sleep, whilst difficult anyway, becomes impossible for me.
I love the contrast between the warm, toasty vibes under the duvet to the prickly numbness of the cold beyond. I like to put out a foot, an arm, an elbow, or even a hip to feel the dramatic contrast of temperatures slowly take over my body, delving past the surface to my inner core as I doze. At some point I’m forced, almost at a point of no return, to draw in the offending limb and feel the rush of deep, instant heat, with its tingling, slightly itchy sensation as it radiates and crawls through my flesh to the bone.
Reading back over this, I’m forced to ask myself: “Am I odd to enjoy this? Is it normal to inflict this upon myself?” I chuckle as I shrug my shoulders, who cares! Life for me is about experiencing everything to the max, about creating contrasts in all my senses, so that I enjoy and appreciate everything that these little things have to offer. As I get older, I’ve learnt to really hone in on a range of sensations so that I can fully appreciate them, as at some point, I might not be lucky enough to enjoy them.
The deep hum of a bee, the sharp tang of lemon on the end of my tongue, the warm, acrid smell of burnt toast, and even the deep throbbing pain in my fingertips as first thing in the morning, I pop out to the garden to grab an armful of logs. All these things are vivid reminders of life and of being alive – and I revel in them.
It’s difficult when you seem to be the only one out of sink with the rest of the world weather-wise. I’m typically English in that I absolutely don’t like it when it’s too hot and I’m forced to take to the slabs of the kitchen floor like a beached whale. I’m also appalled by the sight of snow and ice as I’m trapped indoors by my fear of falling now that I’m wibbly wobbly because of my hip. But I do love the cold! To me, it’s cleansing. It’s a time when nature works to kill off all the nasty bugs, sterilise the soil, and treat the sleeping flora to a period of stasis, a time where they can snooze before gathering their strength – which is so necessary for them in springtime.
Of course, there’s another reason I noted the rising nighttime temperatures with a touch of dismay that has something to do with the fact I now share my bed with two powerful, portable, mini heaters. No, we’re not talking about radiators, oil heaters, or log burners, we’re talking about something much, much hotter! We’re talking Dachshunds. Two tiny, furry, velvet sausages wedged under each armpit that generate enormous amounts of heat so that if you popped a licked finger onto the breastbone, it would literally sizzle!
Amazingly, they themselves shiver and shake dramatically as if freezing the moment I try to move them so that we’re not touching.

They also protest, somewhat loudly in Bear’s case, if moved just centimetres from my side. Thankfully, as the night wears on and the bed gets warmer, we’ve come to a mutual agreement that they should reside at my feet, curled up against each other and allowing me both movement and some degree of autonomy (in my own bed!).
Of course, the rising temperatures mean using less logs on the log burner which is always a plus (particularly as I’m now without the Winter Fuel Payment) and I can’t wait to discard the inevitable ‘thermal vest’, something which reminds me of liberty bodices, worn as a child. Thankfully, I wasn’t sewn into mine but I do remember children who were. It’s absolutely unthinkable now for a whole host of reasons, not least our emphasis on hygiene, and when you talk to young people about it, they think you’re joking.
Anyway, writing this now, my left hand gently caressing a small, velvet snout, its bottom burrowed under my shawl and pushed against me, I smile. Perhaps we’ll have a few more nights to converse with Mr Jack Frost as I splay out like a starfish under the covers, extremities exposed, but, regardless, time marches on and it’s beholden upon me to enjoy every second of it. Small, green spikes begin to poke their little heads above the soil and it will soon be spring, so perhaps it’s time to dig out my bedroom fan.
Are you feeling creative? We are proud to have a hugely talented community on Rest Less, which is why we’re so excited to open up a section of the site dedicated to showcasing the wonderful and diverse writing of our members. If you have a piece of creative writing that you’d like to share with the Rest Less community – you can do so here.