There are, it is true, certain advantages, the principal of these being the impossibility of sustaining an injury should you fall out. Disadvantages include the degree of effort involved in rising, for as you swing your legs out of bed, your knees tend to hit you on the chin.

A raised bed, then, is essential to avoid knocking yourself unconscious every morning thereby immediately returning to the comatose state from which you so recently have emerged.

Floor-mounted mattresses also provide another morning challenge, for to make such a bed it is necessary to descend to your hands and knees as if in prayer. I don't recall saying all that many prayers during my floor-mattress period, but several times I tipped forward on my knees, passed out and woke up at lunch time.

The purchase of a bed, however, was a necessity and lured by the siren calls of department store sales, I ambled with what I hoped was an air of nonchalant disinterest into the bed section of a major retailer. Hoping to be ignored, I was immediately set upon by a saleswoman. If I had wanted immediate attention, I would have been all but invisible, but that was not to be.

"I'm looking for a bed," I said, a reasonable statement from a man standing in a store surrounded by nothing but beds. It's a long time since I bought a bed and I was blissfully ignorant of their price, "I see the price of beds went up yesterday" not generally cutting it as a conversational gambit against office moanings about the soaring cost of petrol.

   "This is nice," I said regarding a queen-sized ensemble, poking my fingers into it and trying to focus my peripheral vision on the price tag. Seconds later the tag slid into clear vision, my knees collapsing in shock at its magnitude.
   "Comfortable, isn't it," said the dear, sweet, maternal figure of the saleswoman as I collapsed across its quilted surface, bouncing twice on its scientifically designed, multi-layered, orthopaedically enhanced spring system.
   "Lovely," I said, still too weak to rise. "Are they all around this price?" I asked, grasping at the bedhead which, I noted, was extra.
   "Oh no," she said apologetically, indicating another flotilla of ensembles moored nearby. She was right - most of them cost more.
   "They're all so lovely. So many from which to choose," I said sliding off the bed and retreating to the street.
   "Bloody hell," I thought. "I may have to dig out that hammock I bought in Nimbin in 1994."

Inquiries made of colleagues elicited the usual flood of well-intended, inconclusive and generally unhelpful advice. One thought he could get a cheap bed from a mate who worked for hotels.

   "Won't they miss it?" I asked, imagining the chagrin of a guest checking into their room to discover that it was lacking one vital piece of furniture.
   "He doesn't steal them," he countered. "He gets the ones they don't want anymore. The ones that are worn out."
   "And why do you imagine they are worn out?" I asked.
   "Yes," he said, nodding. "I see your point."

Attractive though the price would doubtless be, I did not feel inclined to furnish my new apartment with a second-hand bed from the Shaggers Arms Hotel.

Another mate thought I could pick up a good deal from the auctions. "Unfortunately, they're all stacked up against each other. You can't actually inspect what you're bidding for," he said.

A slightly dented refrigerator from an auction may have been acceptable. A mattress with an errant spring waiting to leap out in the depth of night and inflict serious and possibly lasting physical and mental trauma upon my person did not hold the same appeal.

Another friend offered to sell me a waterbed which was superfluous to her needs. This, I knew, would be to court disaster on a grand scale. I've always hoped that when my time came, I would pass peacefully away in my bed, if I ever got around to buying one. Drowning in my bed, however, has never been an ambition.

   "It's got a heater," she said.
   "How nice," I thought. "If I don't drown, I'll be boiled alive and then electrocuted."

There were, of course, those sofa beds to be considered, although these tended to be designed to dissuade house guests from staying for more than one night. I owned one once and it was prone to collapse in the dark of night, trapping the sleeper in a steel, albeit well-padded, grip from which there was no escape save to scream for help.

Were you unfortunate enough to be alone in the house when this happened, then you would be found days later, mouth flecked with pieces of grey foam rubber, testimony to your brave but futile efforts to chew your way to freedom.