I return from my week away from One a Day with a story dragged from my past that some of you may already know.

Some eight years or so ago, Carl and I spent a weekend in Wales for a music convention. We stayed at a small bed and breakfast near to the venue where some friends and other attendees were staying. It wasn’t the classiest of places and we struggled a little with the lock on the bedroom door.

Returning home a little the worse for drink on our first night there, we slammed the door shut and headed for bed. I awoke a little before dawn to find that Carl had seemingly awoken in the night and returned to bed on the wrong side. Except that he was also still on his usual side. I turned my head again to ensure I wasn’t dreaming, and sure enough I was lying sandwiched between two men, the night had clearly gone far better than I had remembered.

Gently nudging the Carl on the correct side of the bed I whispered, ‘There’s someone in the bed. Carl, there’s someone in the bed.’ He grunted, turned over and mumbled, ‘go back to sleep woman, you’re dreaming’. undeterred I tried again, ‘no, there’s someone in the bed, wake up.’ He sat up and looked across me sleepily, opened his eyes a little wider and announced ‘There’s someone in the bed!’ Yes dear.

After being shaken awake, the strange man sat up, looked at us confused and said in a foreign accent ‘This is not my bed’. We agreed. Swinging his legs out of bed, he noticed my jeans on the floor beside it and proceeded to try to pull them on, they reached about halfway up his legs before becoming stuck. He looked down at them quizzically before proclaiming ‘This is not my jeans’. Again, we agreed. Spotting Carl’s jeans hanging over a chair at the other side of the room, he made a hopeful dart for them.

Now, finding a man in bed with your girlfriend is one thing, but there’s a line you don’t cross, and apparently for Carl this is wearing his trousers. He loudly demanded the man back away from the denim and leave the room. Which he promptly did, muttering something about it not being his room on the way out. We fell back on the bad laughing and promptly went back to sleep.

The next morning at breakfast the talk of the dining room was of a prowler in the night trying door handles. Someone asked if anyone had tried our door handle. “Tried the door handle?” We replied, “he tried our bed!”.

The next night on our way home, we passed the hotel lounge and Carl noticed our nightly visitor sitting in there among friends. We decided we should go and introduce ourselves more formally, especially as he probably hadn’t told his friends of his little night time excursion. We actually spent a very pleasant evening in the company of him and his brother, who we learned were Norwegian and had come over for the same convention as us.

The story of the case of mistaken room, was thus:

The room our bed pal was staying in was not en suite, waking in the night and needing the facilities he had left his room and found his way to the communal bathrooms, but, having consumed a large amount of vodka the night before, he got himself a little turned around. In an effort to discover his own room he had simply tried every door he came across until he found one that opened and climbed into bed oblivious to the sleeping couple that presumably hadn’t been in his own room.

Suffice to say, whenever we stay in a hotel now, we always ensure we lock the door in case of roaming Norwegians.

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