SOME DAY MY PRINCE WILL COME . . .

IS IT ME... or is a bloke terrific company until that moment when he falls asleep and starts snoring – the moment when all the cooing and wooing in the world would not be sufficient to stop you wanting to put a pillow over his head or sit on his face but not in a good way?

For all the blokes already bristling as they read this, I suppose some women snore too but not like a herd of hogs at an International Hog Snoring Festival. I could possibly have woken myself up with a gentle purr once or twice in my life but that’s not a capital offence. Someone obliviously asleep while I lie there gritting my teeth is.

The latest incident occurred when Prince Harming arrived after a long-planned preamble laden with foods and flowers and proceeded to wreck my kitchen in the nicest possible way cooking me a sumptuous meal.

Many intimate hours followed: coupling, clearing up, coupling, conversation, coupling, Scrabble, coupling, bubble bath, coupling, massage, coupling - but not necessary in that order.

(As an aside, sometimes all that coupling can be excessive what with the 30-year age gap and his energy levels being slightly higher than mine! Add to the mix a few interruptions from my children asking for maternal advice and recipes and focus can become diverted . . . One has to learn to switch off and on again very quickly in this game!)

Anyway – back to the snoring (if we must). After the last bout of whatever it was we were doing, the prince finally fell asleep. Aaah! I thought. Bless! And actually Phew! But then it began...

I tolerated it for about half an hour. Every time I tried to zone out, give him a gentle nudge, a tut, a sigh, a wriggle, a poke and a prod, it stopped for a second or two then resumed again in earnest. The thing is if I don’t get my beauty sleep, I am less like a purring pussycat and more like A GRUMPY TIGER!

So what to do? The only thing possible: I woke him up and asked him very politely if he would like to go and sleep on the sofa. I offered him pillows and a goose down duvet but NO. He decided to call a cab and go home. At 3.30 in the morning! I confess I was secretly delighted: I could have a shower, take off my make-up, put on my Clarins, stick a couple of rollers in my hair, remake the bed and GET A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP!

But when he actually left, the relief turned to recrimination. Poor chap being turfed out of my nice, warm bed into the cold, dark night after all that cooking and caressing... Would I ever hear from him again? (I did). And how much did I care? (I did).

I’m going down the local shooting club to buy some ear defenders before he comes again. ‘Cos that was pretty noisy too!

I'll tell you about the hot air ballooning next time. It was COOL!