the latest mick jagger and the pacemakers album was playing on the turntable - i think the last track i remember was called 'sanatogen sennapod blues' or something.
anyway, it was quite stirring, whatever it was.
enough to make me get out of my suede hammock - difficult when you're wearing velcro boxer shorts - and retire to my royal chambers (as you do after a few silver tankards of best bitter).
i'd just slipped between the sheets (and if i find out who put that banana skin there, they're in big trouble) when i heard knockers being rattled.
yes - doris wanted to share my bed, again.
she came trudging in, wearing a satin romper suit that wasn't so much baby doll as michelin man.
the material was so shiny, she slipped out of bed four times and i had to strap her down with me snake belt.
this got her a little bit over-excited, and she was none too pleased when i announced that i felt peckish and was just going downstairs for a pot noodle.
'why don't you bring it up here?' she whispered.
'yes, but what about the pot noodle,' i enquired, knowing full well that if i allowed her a sniff of my snack she'd wolf it down.
'oh well - hurry back' she breathed.
'i won't' i muttered.

and i didn't.
as predicted, i couldn't find a pot noodle in the whole palace, so i had to make do with a cumberland sausage.
by the time i crept back into the boudoir, doris was snoring so hard i had to start up a pneumatic drill to drown her out.

i've said it before and i'll say it again - and don't try and talk me out of it this time - she has to go.
and that's final.
probably.