Do you remember the film “Ryan’s Daughter”? If so, do you remember Robert Mitchum wearing long johns in a bedroom scene? (I think he said, “Ah Rosie!”) Chris and I both remember it well but the funny thing is, that when we watched the film together, we were somewhat disappointed to find that the expected scene was missing. We both saw the film in the seventies, independently, of course, (we weren’t together then – I was a small child). We wondered if perhaps a Mary Whitehouse type of person back in the studios had cut the scene to protect future generations of audiences from the sight of a mature Mitchum in long johns? Our film-buff friend and neighbour, Martin, was of no help at all – he couldn’t remember that scene. We are still baffled. If anyone else can recall it we would be pleased and relieved to hear from you. I may be wrong but I think Robert Mitchum’s long johns were red (if that helps).

Anyway, Robert Mitchum’s long johns are only incidental to my story. I really want to tell  you about the chilly weather – it is getting so cold at night now – and my bed attire. Now normally I like to wear as little as possible, without being too alluring, when I go to bed; I hate that feeling of being swathed in pyjamas – they make me feel like a mummy trapped in bandages. I much prefer to wear a nice little vest and a pair of panties, so if there’s a fire I’m ready for action. However, the nights are getting colder, especially so in our bedroom because we sleep on the bottom floor of our house and the central heating doesn’t reach that far.

Dear Chris, he’s so sweet and caring; last Saturday we were shopping at Lidl, the great store that is the same all over Europe and yet it continually surprises one with one-off unusual lines (you never know what extras you’ll find). I was looking at some marvellous gloves designed for use when scraping ice off windscreens, and I was wondering if I would ever use them, when Chris came up to me with something in his hand.

“This is for you,” he said, handing me the stripey item of clothing.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A onesie, to keep you warm at night now that it’s getting chillier,” he seemed pleased that he had found something nice for me.

Last night it was like a fridge downstairs when I went into the bedroom after my shower and my thoughts turned to the grey and white stripey onesie that Chris had given me, and which I hadn’t opened yet. The first thing that I noticed upon pulling it out of the bag was that it was incredibly long and narrow; it was about six-foot long, maybe more, from shoulder to ankle and about one foot wide. Nevertheless I managed to draw up the skinny legs over my own well-formed legs – the material was stretchy – and, believe it or not, the garment fitted a treat… It was almost like a second skin up to the crotch, but being so long, the crotch (which was rather capacious) began half way down my thighs. The arms and torso were perfect and no, in case you’re wondering, the grey and white stripes didn’t make me look like a mummy. On the contrary, I looked like convict who had, mistakenly, been given the long johns of a much taller inmate.

“You look like a convict,” Chris tried to contain his laughter when he came in and found me staring at myself in the mirror.

“Don’t you like it?” I asked.

“I love the convict look,” he answered. (What else could he say?)

He jumped into bed first and I followed.

Pulling back the covers and getting in myself, I turned to Chris and exclaimed:

“Ah Rosie!”

There wasn’t any need to say more – we had both seen Robert Mitchum in that bedroom scene in “Ryan’s Daughter”!

By morning my onsie had taken on my shape, but moreso, and a glance in the full-length mirror informed me that I looked like a big baby wearing a cuddly babygrow.

“You still look like a convict,” Chris laughed.

“An I-con!” I contradicted.

Funnily enough, I slept extraordinarily well in my stripes.