The Bed That's Crossed The Sea (Twice) To Live In Four Countries

What you are looking at is a survivor of multiple assemblies and disassemblies, shipping containers, and a shipment from the UK in a dodgy truck from Romania.

Over the course of 17 years, two relationships, marriage, divorce, and moves to four countries this bed has become the sanctuary where I read, dream, fall in love, fall back out of love, argue, cry, heal from trauma, and conceive ideas for my books. This bed is, in short, an extension of my existence. If I were to have to give it up, I would lose a tangible piece of my history.

Which means it too has a story to tell (in photos at least)

In the summer of 2006, I wandered along the shady lanes of Holland Park, London and gazed into shop windows. With the heat of the warm July sun on my shoulders, I discovered this bed - and fell in love with it instantly. In one of those moments where you simply know, I knew it was destined to be a part of my life, maybe for the rest of my life, a constant for years to come that would travel with me through the days, months, and years of my own story.

It’s now lasted longer than my marriage, and the relationship before that, and is now well into my third relationship…in Poland.

That’s constant.

When my marriage ended in 2019, I had to leave my marital home in Sweden and I had nowhere to go. My husband was less than chivalrous, but my best friend in England was more than happy to invite me to live with her, and so in 2020, in the middle of the first and second COVID lockdowns, I did. I packed up my things and moved back to the UK, the country I had left in 2006.

I rented the master bedroom and ensuite from her. That bed was my solace during the time that followed and the divorce dragged on. No matter how terrifying my future felt, I always felt safe in my bed surrounded by my cats (and books).

Before my bed headed back to the UK, it had lived for almost ten years in my marital home on the Baltic coast of Sweden, in a house we completely renovated (and I loved). At first, my bed was the guest bed, but as my marriage degenerated in a daily fresh hell I moved into this room, and so did the cats. I remember getting into the bed each night and thinking tomorrow will be a better day. It often wasn’t but that bed gave me respite from the trauma of a coercively-controlling partner, and when you are alone and isolated, that counts for a lot.

Going further back in time, the first place my bed moved was to Denmark, in a pretty suburb outside Copenhagen. I rented a three bedroom apartment and this bed tucked perfectly into the second biggest room (image above). Even though I had a bigger bed I had bought in Denmark for the master bedroom, once my relationship ended with my Danish boyfriend, there I was again, tucked up in my bed with my cats and a book, happy as a clam.

And so we arrive at the beginning, to when my bed’s story started. This is my flat in London, in Holland Park where I lived until I moved to Denmark to be with the rhythm guitarist in a band I met while playing in World of Warcraft (I know, I know!) But if one is going to make a mistake for love, why not make it epic?

If you look closely you will see little Niut sleeping there when she was just over a year old.

And now it’s 2023. After 17 years, me and the bed are both somewhat more worn, patched up in places and don’t look as new or shiny as we once did. But I don’t care. I love that through these years, loves, loss, and trauma, it’s been there for me every single day, a shelter, a thing of beauty, and a constant.

And the damage. That’s life. That’s experience.

That’s living.