Discussion in 'The Barracks' started by CL1, Mar 16, 2021.
Once this is complete it sets you up for the rest of the day and the rest of your life
A great truth oh wise one.
I just had to explain my crying with laughter at your comment .Brilliant
Well ... I just learned that this one was sold for € 3.000.000,--
... that would make my day!! ... or the rest of my life
Tracey Emin, My Bed (2012) - Tate Gallery, Londen
And here is the reason not to.
It's all to do with Dermatophagoides pteronyssinus-that's dust mites to you and me-a million of the little buggers in yer bed.
We’ve been living in a hotel for the past two months until we move into our new house, so our bed is made for us! Does that count?
I would suggest not
If you make your bed every morning you will have accomplished the first task of the day. It will give you a small sense of pride, and it will encourage you to do another task and another and another. By the end of the day, that one task completed will have turned into many tasks completed.
"Make Your Bed" | James Clear.
Does it count if you get the missus to do it?
When in the RAF it was an order to make up one's pit every morning. The method was demonstrated in recruit induction training...the layout was to a strict standard with blankets neatly folded.The bed would be in this state when the airman was on leave of absence. Normally it was the practice for an airman's bed to be made up ready by others in the billet for his return from absence when it was known he would be returning to the unit in the early hours of the morning....a question of esprit de corps, apart from avoiding lights on and any disturbance to those sleeping.
When going to work I used to pass a farmhouse which was fronted by two bedrooms. Both bedrooms had bed linen hanging out from open windows every morning apart from times of inclement weather.
No doubt a practice of yesterday getting rid of the mites and human skin particles
"Make your bed first thing in the morning"....
And have it ejected through the nearest window when it doesn't pass muster! (usually followed by picking up a bucket full of stones no bigger than peas from the parade ground, which on being full is taken by kindly caporal and scattered to the four corners of aforementioned square, to be picked up by bed making miscreant again).
Repeat ad infinitum until your knees look like that butcher's block you used to scrub with the wire brush on Saturday afternoons for 9d.
Fast forward sixty plus years and wonder why your gait now resembles that of a Sumatran hot coal walker on a bad day.
Kip in a sleeping bag, you know it makes sense.
Kind regards, sweet dreams, always,
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