“Tuh,” I say, grappling with hanging our duvet cover on the line. I fling it over which is considerable effort for a small person.
I sigh as I notice a bulge at the very end. Cheap Ikea duvets, it seems, do not come with poppers – merely a two-feet long opening which is perfect for allowing pillow cases to become trapped at the end of it.
I try to take the duvet off the line, its clammy wetness sticking to my arms. “Fuck’s sake,” I say, working an arm towards the end of the duvet.
And eventually, internet, I get under the duvet and just sort of… get in. Inside the duvet, I reach my arms up to the very top corners and find the rogue pillow case.
“Hello?” I hear a female voice say.
My stomach drops. It’s my neighbour. We’re very friendly, my neighbour and I, but she does not know I am crazy.
I thrash around in the duvet, take a few steps, but cannot get out.
“Billygean?” she says.
“Hello!” I say. “I’m just… looking for something.”
I AM STUCK IN MY DUVET COVER.
I take a few more steps, lurching around like a garden monster, eventually sit on the grass and take it off over my head.
My hair is wild as I emerge from the duvet cover, but as I do I see she has already gone inside.
Perhaps I will go over and explain.