Pillow talk

Strange things have been happening in my bedroom for the last two years or so - right on top of my bed.

Those of you who may be thinking I have gone all populist and aim to attract attention to this blog by enthralling you with details of my sex life, will be disappointed. Then again, disappointment and my bedroom go hand in hand, (poor choice of words now I come to think of it!).

It's my pillows. They talk.

If you read last night's post about dancing boats, this will either come as no surprise to you or will be the last nail in the coffin of my credibility - but they do!

To be perfectly correct - they appear to pick up TV or radio broadcasts. Will the last person reading this blog please turn off the lights!

When I go to bed or take a nap, I lie on my stomach with my head turned to one side - my right ear resting against the pillow. It's then that I hear voices.

The sound is not the sound of ordinary conversation, it is similar in tone and pitch to a radio or TV broadcast. I don't hear actual words, just the sound of talking. It's like listening to a news broadcast in a far off room. As soon as I lift my head from the pillows - it stops.

I am sure there is a scientific explanation for this phenomenon, something along the lines of hearing the ocean when you put a shell to your ear, but hearing TV from your pillow doesn't seem quite so romantic somehow.

I wonder if it is just me or can other people hear it as well. Maybe next time I strike lucky I should turn to the lady and softly whisper, "darling, can you hear the TV coming from the pillow?"

A similar thing appeared to happen to a young lad who I shall call John. I was working at a homeless men's centre at the time, and for some reason teenagers seemed comfortable talking to me about their problems and their reason for being there. It was there that I met John. John was 18 and befriended me, asking my advice on a whole range of topics.

The ironic thing about John was that his father was a senior official in the state child welfare department. I met him once. John asked if I could meet his parents for dinner and I agreed. As soon as his father saw me, his face lit up. He told me it was nice for the neighbours to see John with someone wearing a shirt and tie. I am sure his dad was a great success in advising people on how to bring up children - the bastard.

One day John asked if I could show him how to pick up girls. John had more confidence in my ability than I obviously did. Asking me how to pick up women is like asking George Bush and Dick Cheney, to give a talk on the virtues of world peace. Then I thought of the old saying, "those who can - do, those who can't - teach" so I agreed.

I took him to a bar at the Hilton Hotel, and after a while we started talking to two girls, eventually asking them to join us at a nice cosy little table. All seemed to be going well until for some reason, the subject of air-conditioning arose.

John's face went pale. In an anxious voice he told one girl, "I don't like air conditioners". The young lady naturally asked him why.

"They talk to me".

She was well spoken, articulate and a former pupil of a fine Catholic girls' school. She replied, "Huh?"

"They talk to me. When I pass an air conditioning unit, they call out my name. They say 'John come here, we want you John'".

As I have already indicated, I don't know too much about chatting up women, but I do know that telling a girl that air-conditioners talk to you, has a negative impact on ones chances of getting ones leg over.

The two girls looked at each other, then at me. I was as surprised as they were. All credit to them, they tried to make the best of it and the girl nearest to John calmly asked,

"Do other things talk to you John? Washing machines? Spin dryers?" She obviously had a fetish about laundry appliances.

John looked hurt and told her she was trying to take the piss out of him. Needless to say, the two girls did not stay long after that.

Poor John, I thought to myself. Young, innocent, naive. I asked him why he had come out with such a remark. His answer was simple.

"Mike, did you see how much their drinks cost?"

Well I'll be a monkey's uncle!