I was pleased (and almost uncontrollably amused) to note that it was the fictional Hercule Poirot who bought the bed, and *not* the actor David Suchet. I appreciated the distinction. Who knows, perhaps Mr. Suchet popped into the store in full Poirot regalia, dressed as befits the occasion of buying a ten thousand pound bed... One can just imagine the scene - the costume-padded rotund little man trotting around the store struggling to mount and dismount the lofty beds. I wonder if he brought Miss Lemon along to test the firmness of the mattress [1], or perhaps that cheery saphead Capt. Hastings to ask ridiculous questions about hand nested calico pockets:
"I say old chap, how's your horse hair? Golly, I do like a hand teased long strand. Is it *loose*?.... Well I'll be damned, is *that* Belgian ticking? What a jolly fine double stuffing you'll have here Poirot!"On as almost completely separate note, the average high st. bed guy is no less seamy than your typical Carpet Shite (sic) salesmen. The obscenely, nauseatingly perverted Benson's Beds vulture was actually touching cloth as we bounced about on the bed testing the movement transfer. Euuuuggghhhh. "When you finally decide to go to sleep...". Foul.
[1] Miles, knowing your fondness for Miss L. as I do, I urge you not to try this at home... She is *too* autistic for you!

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