Each season brings its “yeehas” and “blahs,” and naturally winter is no exception. For me the “blahs” consist of the threat or indeed the reality of driving on ice – number 1. Second is driving in snow, but this is tempered by the “yeeha” of it actually snowing, so it almost zeroes itself out.

The first donning of the winter coat brings a snug smile, but wanes ever increasingly over the season until you convince yourself that 20 degrees isn’t so cold, so you bolt outdoors without a coat at all.

But absolute top yeeha of the list for winter is our bed, with its pillow-top mattress under you and the full goose-down duvet above, it’s the most snuggly warm nest you will ever find. For those who haven’t met a duvet yet, it is a comforter filled with an enormous number of goose armpit feathers. Doesn’t sound horribly appealing, but getting under one – a duvet, not a goose’s armpit – is like slipping into warmed shaving cream.

Sir loves a new towel every day, as you possibly know, but if I could have clean sheets every day I would be happier than a spotted pup under a pickup truck, let me tell you.

I thought of you all tonight as I was heavily into sheet-changing mode upstairs ... no really I did. I realized I was running a column for you through my head as I was in full swing, and ended up having a little chuckle to myself. See how you’re forever atop of my list?

I obviously conserved way too much energy today and decided that not only was I going to change the sheets, the duvet cover was to be changed as well.

Now I do this ritual with the sheets each week. If I time is right, and catch Sir with his proverbial shorts down, I can get him to help, but the relative merits of his helping me are far outweighed by his moaning, so it is a chore I honestly prefer to do solo. Don’t for heaven’s sake tell him that! But changing the duvet cover, requiring far more effort, is a chore which can be left for a little while longer. And most assuredly solo, as the Sir’s helpful moans would summons 911.

So there I was, with the old duvet cover off, snapping on the new sheets like a drill sergeant. If I had a nickel, it would have bounced off each layer, every pillow, the dog – if we had one – and the ceiling fan – which we do, so tightly precise being my hospital corners.

So entrenched was I in this chore that I had to open all the windows as I’d broken out in a muck sweat, and as it is, as I speak, 26 degrees, the great desire for window opening shouldn’t really be in my vocabulary, now should it?

The old duvet cover in the wash, I am now faced with the task of putting the new one on. It never was a particularly arduous one with a twin or even a queen-sized cover, but a king proves problematic, as your arms can just never be long enough to span the width of the thing.

But I learnt a trick, possibly from an old Dane or Swede, or even Norseman – wherever duvet’s originated, it’s immaterial really – where you place the new duvet cover inside out across your bed, place the duvet on top, and then proceed, from the bottom, to turn the entire thing right side out.

I have four anchors, looking cunningly like the clips I had on my nylon suspender belt as a school girl – maybe it’s a garter belt up here – way back when. Those clips held up those hideous 90 denier grey stockings with the tenacity of a bulldog, if a bulldog would ever be asked to hold up hose – and I’ve found they work very well with keeping the duvet’s corners perfectly aligned with those of its covers.

Sounds like a piece of cake, doesn’t it? Well, let me tell you, there is a chapter in this episode where it looks like you’ve turned the entire mélange into something looking like a homeless person on your bed. You’re not quite sure which end is up, right side out or in, and that’s when the only defense you have is to chuckle (see above). 

Realizing that reversing the process is not an option, you fearlessly follow the old Scandewegian Lore and keep going.

And all of a sudden – voila! Or Jeg gjorde det, as the Norwegians would holler triumphantly, chasing the veritable homeless person you thought was there out of your bedroom, and smoothing your now perfectly covered duvet across the bed.

Lovely, but by then I was as hot as a Pygmy in a fur coat in the Sahara, let me tell you, and no sweaty body was going hit these sheets, no way, no how. So I flung myself under the shower, got into my squeaky clean jammies and rushed to the ’puter to write this missive.

Well, so enthused I was with this new task, I’m glowing again (isn’t it right? A horse sweats, a gentleman perspires and a lady glows?).

Back to the shower. Into my nest.

Good night, sweet reader, and as Charles Kingsley would have it – let who will be clever.