Only ten more days to go and then I shall be sleeping in a normal bed once again.

In case you are wondering what is an abnormal bed, I shall tell you. It's one that folds in the middle and has a mattress the thickness of a tuna salad sandwich (minus the mayonnaise). It is called a camp bed.

For the past fortnight I have been sleeping on this bed which I bought a few weeks ago, ready for the influx of summer visitors to my home.

When it arrived it carried a label informing me that this was no ordinary camp bed but a sturdy Swedish model (are there any other sort?) with double springs.

It still looked pretty fragile to me so, being a considerate host, it seemed only right that I should leave the comfort of my own bed and give the Swede a trial run.

"Where are you sleeping?" the first of my visitors, my aunt from Yorkshire, asked when she arrived.

I told her I would be sharing The Mother's bedroom and sleeping on the camp bed. The aunt giggled when I told her. "And is it?" she asked.

"Is it what?" I said.

"Is it camp? You know, really camp like Graham Norton or Dale Winton?"

"If you're not careful you'll find out for yourself by sleeping on it instead of me," I said.

When the aunt went home, the brother from America arrived. I barely had time to change the sheets.

"Where are you sleeping?" he asked. I told him I'd recently bought a new camp bed.

He, too, seemed to find this highly amusing. "Well, I suppose it would have to be in Brighton, wouldn't it?" he said and burst out laughing.

Then he decided to call the bed Julian after Julian Clary, whom he'd seen when he was last in the UK.

"Very funny," I said. "Well, how about you and Julian sleeping together for the next day or two. It'll give my back a rest?"

"No way," my brother sniggered. "I'm a straight guy and that's a camp bed, you said so yourself. I'd never live it down."

Unfortunately in the past few days the relationship between Julian and myself has deteriorated beyond repair.

A few nights ago when I climbed on top of him one of his legs gave way.

"Have you touched Julian?" I asked The Mother accusingly.

"Stop being so ridiculous and come to bed," she snapped.

In the middle of the same night I turned over in my sleep and Julian's narrow frame turned over with me.

The Mother switched on the light to discover Julian was now on top of me. Not being fond of surprise awakenings at 3am, she was furious.

"That's the last time I'm sharing my room with you and that silly bed. You can sleep downstairs on the sofa tomorrow night," she said.

The next day, while I was out, she folded Julian in half and dragged him on to the landing. I took pity on him.

"I'll give you one last chance," I said and carried him downstairs.

In the middle of that night I woke with a start as a couple of courting cats professed their undying love outside my back door.

I sat up quickly and Julian, obviously distressed by the sounds, immediately folded himself in half, trapping me like an insect in a Venus flytrap.

"That's it," I said to Julian. "I've had enough of your abusive behaviour - we're finished. And you know what that means don't you? I'm never sleeping with you again."