BRYONY GORDON: I fancy my husband rotten – but we haven’t shared a bed for nine years

My husband and I have a secret that we would like to keep hidden from the public.

It’s not that we’re swingers or Morris dancers, although heaven knows we cherish this information with the same levels of secret shame as husbands and wives whose hobby is energetically jigging with strangers when no one is looking.

It’s more that we like to maintain the illusion that we are a nice, normal couple; the kind you might want to invite for dinner or a cup of tea.

So here goes, but please let’s keep it between us: My husband and I don’t sleep together. At least not in the same bed.

We haven’t shared one since a particularly difficult weekend in 2015, when a stay with an elderly aunt forced us to huddle in a small double room, under scratchy blankets – a sweaty night that involved kicking each other in the ribs and making us promise that we would never repeat this horrible thing again. ever experience again.

“It’s not you, it’s the bed,” I growled at my husband the next morning, waking up looking (and feeling) like something out of a horror movie.

“Well, it’s really just you, especially your snoring, but I’ll forgive you as long as I get a good night’s sleep.”

“Says the woman who has been shaking in her sleep all night!”

“How dare you!” I gasped. “I didn’t fall asleep once!”

So for the sake of our marriage, we decided to go to sleep, rather than actually get a divorce, and it’s worked out pretty well for us, considering that almost a decade later, we’re still legally married, and quite happily, and enjoying regular marital relationships (my bedroom is our chosen location; my bed has a mattress topper, his does not).

I love my husband, you see, and I hate him (at least when he remembers to take out the trash and empty the dishwasher). It’s just that, despite all this, I definitely don’t want to share a bed with him.

Why am I admitting this now? Because a few days ago it was announced that so-called sleep separations – where couples spend a lot of time together, but choose to sleep separately – are on the rise.

One in 20 homeowners say they have taken out a new mortgage so they can move to a larger home or expand the home they live in to accommodate the need for two marital bedrooms, according to new research. In London, where the stresses of modern life are thought to be more acute, that figure rises to one in ten.

This made me feel a lot better about my own sleep separation, which I often keep to myself for fear of being bombarded with the phone numbers of marriage counselors from couples who think sleeping in separate beds is the death blow to any relationship.

I’m pretty sure the opposite is true in our case, but try explaining that to people who like to sleep spooning their partner, their limbs entwined in a romantic representation of what they believe is true love. is.

When we started our sleep separation we didn’t really have a spare room, we were like living in a small two bed flat with a child.

But my husband, who was of strong military descent, could fall asleep on a haystack during a hurricane, and so he happily shuffled to the sofa bed in the living room, complaining only once when he woke up and a mouse ran over his head saw crawling. his face. (It was still better than waking up and finding myself kicking him, he joked at the time. Or, at least, I think he was joking.)

When we moved into a proper three-bedroom house, my mother became excited about the prospect of having somewhere to stay in London. But it wasn’t to be. The guest room quickly became my husband’s unofficial room, the place he snuck off to after we said goodnight.

For years we have scrimped and saved in hopes of renovating the loft so that we could finally receive visitors while maintaining our sleeping separation.

And so it was that last year we finally completed a renovation that meant we now officially have separate bedrooms, with separate closets and separate color schemes and, most importantly, separate beds and separate duvets.

He doesn’t have to deal with my insomnia, and I don’t have to deal with the tinny voices coming through his earbuds as he tries to tune in to a podcast about serial killers.

Now in our mid-forties, beds are places where we can spend the night, not somewhere we can contort our bodies into shapes while trying to impress each other with our sexual prowess.

In the morning we are well rested, energized and much more receptive to the kind of intimate activities that glue a relationship together. We have given each other the greatest gift of all: the opportunity to enjoy the stars all night in the middle of a super king-sized bed that belongs only to ourselves.

Sleep separations were the norm until the 1950s.

In many parts of Europe, twin beds pushed together are the norm, while the Scandinavian sleeping method involves sleeping in the same bed but under separate duvets.

In the meantime, my husband and I spend a lot of time together – until the shared beds separate us.

That’s too much Taylor, Starmers!

How much Taylor Swift is too much Taylor Swift?

It’s a question often asked in our home, especially from my husband, who doesn’t understand the need to listen to her countless albums back to back. But at least my daughter and I only went to her incredible Eras tour once (we couldn’t afford more than this).

That doesn’t include the Starmer family, who, according to Sir Keir’s register of interest, received tickets to see Swift not once, not twice, but three times over the summer. (Looks like Keir’s only been twice – and he calls himself a super fan?)

That’s a total of over ten hours spent watching Swift perform. Impressive endurance, Starmers, but even this Swiftie has her limits.

Isn’t it incredible that Phillip Schofield can reach the age of 62 – and survive on a desert island for a week – without the opportunity to take responsibility for his actions?’

It is said that he places the blame for his demise on Holly Willoughby, who he apparently refers to using the witch emoji.

According to sources, Phil is angry with his former This Morning co-host Holly for not making a public statement supporting him when it was revealed he had an ‘ill-advised but not illicit affair’ with a much younger man.

Unfortunately, most of us have come across someone like Schofield – a man-child who still acts like a five-year-old who blames his mother for everything.

It’s time to leave poor Holly alone, Phil, and grow up.

Good news everyone: according to the latest science, drinking coffee while eating chocolate can be good for your heart!

I drink a cup of caffeine to that – all I need now is for someone to hand me the dairy milk.

Trust clinic

Miranda Hart has revealed that she married a man who came to investigate a mold problem in her London home (not a euphemism).

I love hearing stories like this; there’s a ridiculous idea that if you’re not settled by age 30, you’re “on the shelf,” but Hart is 51.

She proves that when it comes to relationships, the only right time is the one that works for you.

I need a break from the adventure

According to research, families are choosing to go on adventure vacations instead of relaxing on the beach. We did that in 2019, when I thought it would be a good idea to go to Italy with my family so I could participate in a triathlon.

The idea was that we would have a relaxing holiday before I completed the grueling swimming, cycling and running course.

In practice, I spent the entire week stressing about the event, while my husband spent the entire week chasing after our six-year-old daughter.

Since then we have been spending our holidays horizontally on the beach – in hotels with a good kids’ club!