I briefly considered throwing Mrs Canavan out of the window last night. I decided against it because she is five months pregnant – not because it might damage our unborn child but because she is so hefty it would have been too much of a struggle to heave her across the bedroom and propel her headfirst into the garden below.
The reason I was thinking such sinister thoughts is because Mrs Canavan has, for some reason, begun to snore in her sleep.
I say snore, but snore doesn’t quite cover it. Some people snore nicely – quite soothingly in fact, like a relaxing, gentle summer breeze. Mrs Canavan’s snoring is like a particularly violent pneumatic drill.
Such is the severity of her snoring, the bed vibrates and on several occasions I have woken to find myself in a heap on the floor after being bounced out.
Mrs C claims the snoring has started because she is pregnant. She tells me that when a woman is expecting, something happens to the lining of the nose and snoring is common.
I think she told me this in an effort to make me more sympathetic. However, it is hard to be sympathetic when at twenty-five past three in the morning you are sharing a double bed with an individual making more noise than the entire Halle orchestra.
After a particularly nasty week recently when I averaged about two-and-half hours sleep over a period of five nights, I decided to decamp to the spare room.
The only problem with this is that Mrs Canavan gets upset about it. “I feel scared and it’s not nice to wake up without your smelly morning breath in my face,” she said, romantically.
Thus it was that, for a week, I waited till she fell asleep, crept into the back bedroom to sleep, but set the alarm for 6.20 so I could wake and return to the marital bed for when she awoke.
Even in the back bedroom, though, I could hear her snoring and the effect it is having on the cat is dreadful. He refuses to remain in the house overnight and as soon as he sees Mrs Canavan change into her pyjamas, bolts to the front door with a panic-stricken look on his face.
To be fair to Mrs Canavan, it seems she is correct in her claims that snoring during pregnancy is common.
According to various baby-related websites, the amount of blood in a woman’s body increases during pregnancy, which means the blood vessels expand, which leads to swollen nasal membranes, which leads to bloody annoying snoring. On one website, in the ‘tips for partners’ section, it said, helpfully, ‘buy earplugs’. There is one certain position during sleep, I’ve noticed, where Mrs Canavan doesn’t snore. This position is on her left side with her knees tucked towards her stomach.
She starts in this position – so is snore-free, allowing us both to fall asleep – but she’s a wriggler and so when I invariably wake at 2.45am for the first of my three night-time toilet visits (I’m very regular when it comes to urine production), she’ll be lay on her back, mouth open, and snoring like a jumbo jet engine.
To stand any chance of getting back to sleep, I have to put two hands on her back and try and shove her back onto her left side, then fold her legs up. I don’t know whether you have ever tried to manoeuvre a sleeping and vastly-overweight woman around, but it is not easy. Imagine going for a walk and finding a large oak tree has fallen across the path and then trying to lift that oak tree out of the way. That’s what it’s like trying to move Mrs Canavan.
It takes around 45 minutes to lever her onto her left side with her knees folded, by which time I am panting like a well-exercised border collie and sweating so much I need a shower. And by the time I return from the shower, she’s rolled back into her original position and has her mouth wide open, snoring like a trooper.
If anyone has any cure for a snoring woman, other than a shotgun, please let me know.
No, I’m not on the run officer, just out running
I have a habit of going for the occasional jog quite late in the evening, usually about 10pm, and did so the other night.
I was running along the promenade road between Lytham and St Annes, and had stopped to have a breather and do a couple of stretches, when I heard a car behind me.
It slowed as it approached and as I turned to my right, I saw it was a police car (the siren on top, the word ‘police’ on the bonnet, and the fact there were two chaps inside wearing a blue uniform gave it away really).
“What are you up to?” the officer on the passenger side asked.
I was sweating and dressed in running shorts, running trainers and a running T-shirt.
“I’m running,” I said. “At this time?” he said, which was a tricky one to answer because quite clearly, yes, it was this time. I hadn’t been out earlier and it wasn’t later, it was this definitely this time, 10.33pm, to be exact.
“Yes,” I said.
“Ok, enjoy,” he said, then very pleasantly bid me farewell and drove off into the evening.
At first I felt slightly unnerved – did I look like a burglar? Had there been a recent spate of robberies carried out by a sweaty man wearing Lycra? – but on reflection I then felt quite reassured that our police officers are doing such a fine and through job patrolling the area.
I will be going out for another night-time jog tomorrow, and will be mildly disappointed if I don’t get stopped again.