We now have a bed in our bedroom, which is great news because the novelty factor of sleeping on the floor on a mattress had just about started to wear off. Sleeping on just a mattress has its benefits, namely that you can – quite literally – roll out of bed in the mornings and that you don’t need bedside tables because everything can just pile up on the floor next to you, but it doesn’t half feel shoddy. When I first met Mr AMR he had a wooden futon (a FUTON!) in his loft apartment mezzanine and it was almost a dealbreaker. Though the flat was in the heart of Shoreditch – before Shoreditch became mainstream trendy and was still a bit down-and-dirty trendy, which is infinitely preferable in my opinion – and was huge, so I forgave the futon, which was like some kind of sleep torture instrument, and moved on in. (Actually that’s a lie; Mr AMR moved me in whilst I was in New York (I think" or Paris"), carrying all of my furniture and piles of unwashed laundry and stacks of books, and it was a very romantic gesture. Reader, I married him. Etc.) I digress; this is supposed to be about beds! Our last bed, bought only a few years ago, was one of those amazing telly beds. Have you seen them" A tv rises out of the foot of the bed when you press the remote control – it’s all very Jetsons. And probably a real killer for maintaining any sort of sex life. Anyway, we loved the telly bed but it was a kingsize, because t...