I may have mentioned I'm away for Christmas.
Me and Mrs Rant are holed up in a very nice converted shed in The Hague.
We're having a great time away from family and friends, reading, eating, drinking and watching DVDs.
There really should be nothing to rant about, but sadly there is.
It's the bed in this place.
It's actually a faux-leather corner sofa that folds out into a double bed. The sheet won't tuck under the top left and bottom left corners because the sofa cushion is attached to the sofa. This has led to me sleeping directly on the fleather. It's quite warm at night time in here, so you can imagine how thrilled I am to wake up and have to tear the sofa off my skin like a giant plaster.
The main bed-related gripe is that it isn't actually comfy at all.
We both feel like the woman with the Mr Bean voice who rented us this place crept in during the night and repeatedly smacked our spines with a baseball bat. One more night on this bed and I could end up paralysed from the neck down.
If that wasn't enough, the woman with the Mr Bean voice has cats. Cats are generally known for their stealth, but not these two. They jump on to this roof from an adjoining building with all the grace of a fat man belly-flopping into a swimming pool from a great height. This has managed to disturb what little sleep I've had in between bouts of crippling back agony.
I'd go back to bed if I didn't think it would kill me.
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