“Ugh,” he said. “What is this Cath Kidston bullshit”

In a fit of madness recently I bought a shabby chic duvet set. I’m not sure quite how it happened but it was a perfect storm of a) being a really hot day, b) being kindly taken to Dunelm Mill by my mother in law and being all OMG this place is like a duvet cover warehouse, and c) it was £19.99 for a kingsize cover and two pillow cases. Eh, barg.

So basically I’m using the dehydration defense.

Also, we needed a spare set after I threw out all the other ones barring the most recent stylin’ plain white one I’d bought in M&S so really, for just under £20 sterling, I reckoned I could live with its twee roses and pastel ways while the nice one was in the wash.

That was until Himself Indoors saw it. “Ugh, what is this Cath Kidston bullshit,” he grumbled.

Colour me surprised he even knows who she is but I guess he has been going out with me for 12 years.

Then it went onto the bed. That night, he got under the covers and said wanly, “I feel like I am going to sleep in an old lady’s house. A dead old lady.”

Then he turned around and went to sleep, sighing sadly.