Dreaming of a good night’s kip

My wife and I are going through a moving experience and, as
novice eBayers, we’re trying to sell half the stuff from our old house before
moving into a smaller, shiny new home.
A super-comfy night’s sleep at Brockencote Hall Hotel
recently convinced us it was time to replace another of our beds, a Victorian
brass and iron-framed job which had seen better days.
At one time I’d hoped a trendy small boutique hotel would bid
an outrageous sum for it. But with one of its brass balls missing and wonky
finials all round, it was more shabby than ‘shabby chic’ and fetched a modest
hundred quid.
An interior designer pal said it had to go. With a dismissive
flick of the wrist and a shudder he pronounced it “hideous!” We got the
But at least our once-splendid Victorian bed made a suitably
grand departure, carried aloft on the roof rack of a Fiat Multipla. Noresund,
alas, fared less well.
The lovely young lady in jodhpurs who bought it expressed
dismay when she dropped the ramp on her trailer. “Oh dear,” she said, “I forgot
to brush it out this morning. Never mind …”
And with that (no kidding!) she plonked my newly-dusted bed
frame right in a pile of horse wotsit and drove off.
Bet her bedroom smells delightful.
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