I have a great love of beds, especially being curled up in them, free from the pressure of having to fall asleep. The true mark of comfort in a new home is whether my bed invites me to strip off all my clothes, dive in, and stay for a day. I must say, this one is coming along nicely (especially since the duvet cover stopped being as literally as it is figuratively crunchy). There is one thing missing though - a gross oversight of my packing job 4 months ago. Actually, the entire packing job was executed without any sort of vision at all, which is why I find myself presently with hardcover editions of Shakespeare and children's fiction and not enough underwear. But, in about 8 hours, at least one of these disasters will be rectified, as I am promised my dearly ragged little teddy bear is "safely tucked away" in my brother's carry-on bag. This is Geraldine; one-eyed, very flat and very wise (she is even puported to speak to my mother, - either evidence of her real-ness, or a familial legacy of auditory hallucinations). And I am entirely pleased about this whole business, because at the end of the day, under the covers, are you ever too old for comfort?