pink blanket

One very important item in my flat is a pink blanket. It is not a high quality wool blanket, especially purchased from Scotland but a cheap IKEA piece of fleece that one old housemate left to my care.

However, despite its worthless appearance it is in use almost 24hours per day, during the winter months.  At least it is in use whenever I am at home. In the morning I put it over my shoulders and try to keep it away from the boiling porridge. During the day it is on my chair to ensure that I will not freeze and get attached by ice blocks in to the brown piece of wood. And often it, simultaneously serves as a leg warmer and guarantees that I am about to fall on my face every time I try to get a cup of tea from the kitchen.

Every night I put it over me, under my duvet, before turning the heating off (the magnificent system in this place does not allow me to have heating all the time, even if the outside temperature drops to the negative side).

This morning, when I tried hard not to wake up I noticed I had, during the course of the night cocooned into my pink blanket. I had my fists under my chin, my arms held tightly to my body, legs slightly bent but still wiggling free.

I could not move out from this position. I turned and twisted but could not free myself from the blanket that had firmly wrapped itself around me. I was nice and warm but I was stuck.

After a short struggle that felt like an eternity I managed to get my arms out and eventually unroll myself from the blanket.

Unfortunately the cold breeze coming through the windows and from under the door meant that I could not stay upset with my blanket for too long, for its unexpected attack against my freedom. However, I might have to seriously consider placing it over my duvet tonight.