As I lay in bed alongside my snoring, shifting, sighing, increasingly less beloved husband night after night, I used to beg very much to differ. At least with the first half of the sentiment. Mrs Pat was notorious in her day for the lovers she took, while I have had regrettably far less experience of hurly burly, be it on period furniture or otherwise.
Speaking for heterosexual couples at least (I’m getting into this modernising thing now), there can only be trouble. When one partner is smaller, lighter, less prone to releasing loud, sudden sounds and toxic clouds of gas, and not a repository of such large amounts of phlegm that at least three new seams need to be tapped every night – one before lying down, one around 3am, say, one when he rises and disturbs his recently-settled humours in the morning – there can be no peace.
More might also be drawn from the following list: men’s inability to turn over UNDER a duvet rather than taking the whole thing with them; the disparity between body temperatures (men habitually run hotter than women, which is why we always take a cardigan into the office and part of the reason we refuse to wear skimpy nightclothes on the regular – the other part, in case you were wondering, is thrush); the indefatigable erection poking hopefully into your lumbar region when you’ve turned away in a futile attempt to avoid the noise; the phlegm again.
I suspect a lot of people, preponderantly women, would like to institute a full sleep divorce. But there is more than a lack of space that prevents it. Marriage is made up of social conventions at least as much as it is of religious and/or moral bindings (depending on how secularly you lean), and one of the strongest of these is that you share a bed.
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People are strangely wedded to couples’ physical togetherness. We talk a good game these days about the need for independence, separate interests and so on, but when it comes to the crunch, others look askance at those who do not take every opportunity to be together. Which, of course, is insane. It is not that the more time a couple spends together, the happier that couple is. It’s that the happier a couple is, the more time they want to spend together. The handful of true soulmates that exist in the world, who blossom fully only in each other’s presence and would wither and die without it, skew expectations for the rest of us.
Marriages – by which I really mean all long-term relationships – need space, literal as well as metaphorical. You cannot live with someone breathing down your neck in any sense. If we could break away from the romantic myth and were less hidebound by convention, we would be free to adapt and rejig our set ups in a way that better suits us as individuals and as pairs.
Prioritising your needs over social expectations is the most likely route to enduring happiness. Separate bedrooms is not the first step on the road to dissolution; it’s the route to joint survival.
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