I kind of knew that putting the TV back in the bedroom was going to ultimately come back to bite me on the arse, but I took the risk.
It was a stupid risk to take, more like a certainty than a risk.
When my husband and I were a lot younger and I drank a lot more, I didn’t mind so much that he liked to watch TV in bed. In my love-raddled, drink- addled brain I thought it was part of his charm and even enjoyed lying next to him watching shows at night. That was in the UK, though where TV was better and adverts did not punctuate every program every six or seven minutes, where broadcasters did not feel like they needed to launch massive pop-up banners halfway up the screen to alert us to another show on the network that we simply could not miss, even while we were trying to watch one we hadn’t.
Since we have been in Australia, we have not had a TV in the bedroom, but when my husband went back to Europe for a fortnight a couple of years ago, I thought it would be absolutely hilarious to wind him up by moving the spare TV into the bedroom while he was gone. I had no intention of watching it, I just wanted him to catch glimpses of it while he was chatting to me on Skype. It was back in the front room and happily back to collecting dust a good few days before his return.
But I had planted a dangerous seed in his mind and now I have a horse chestnut tree in my house and it is dropping conkers everywhere. Once my husband had seen the TV in the bedroom again – even from 10 000 miles away, it became his mission to get it back in there. Like Disney said, ‘If you can dream it, you can do it,’ and slowly he has somehow renegotiated the instrument back into the bedroom.
I have to admit that occasionally I do still enjoy watching TV in bed. On Monday night I get in under the covers at 8.30 pm to watch two episodes of a documentary series that I really like, but now that the weather is cold my husband’s talent for playing long-term strategical moves is making me rue the day I ever allowed this to happen again.
He has an ability to not only find the weirdest programs, but to watch them for hours on end. This afternoon I came home to find him watching some American show about men who scour the country looking for other men who will sell them junk and try to claim it is valuable – like some nightmare Mad Max version of Antiques Roadshow. He is currently watching the Big Bang Theory. I don’t have anything against The Big Bang Theory, and I understand it is every popular and funny, it is just that they are showing a marathon of back-to-back episodes and it is on until half past eleven tonight. I can’t stay up that late any more on a work night, I have to at least be able to feign being awake tomorrow at my desk.
But as we sow, so do we reap. I can hear canned laughter from Sheldon’s hilarious antics as he fails to navigate standard social situations drifting down the hallway into the lounge area where I am writing. I have done a lot of writing today. I wrote some fiction this morning and worked on two other pieces when I got in from walking the dogs after work as well. It has been a good, productive day but I am tired and about ready for bed, which means the bedroom, which means negotiating just how soon we can turn off the TV.
Wish me luck, I am going in.