The app that claimed I’m just rubbish in bed

I don’t snore. Me snore? Gerraway! Physically impossible, folks! It’s only fat blokes, cartoon characters and dozing whiskery jailers in old westerns who churn out the nocturnal ‘ZZZZZZZ’ noises.

There is no way this skinny frame is physically capable of such an appalling, repellent anti-social act. Indeed, anybody suggesting such slander and heresy should be made to lap-dance through a cage of starving lions wearing only a pair of kebab- meat trousers.

So why the radge and vehement denials? It all started when my beloved downloaded an app that apparently tells you how well you’ve slept. Now being old-school, I thought nature pretty much had that one covered; if you wake up and the bags under your eyes are more poond shop than Prada and you’ve got less energy and enthusiasm than a vegan butcher, then ye know you’ve not slept with the depth and intensity of an eighties art student.

Undeterred, my lovely lady assured me that this cutting edge technology was what I’d been missing all me life. You simply set the thing running as you turned in, and it silently stood watch as you sank into what Edgar Allen Poe referred to as ‘those little slices of death.’ Your whole night’s pattern would then be recorded and then played back to you as a set of statistics in the morning.

I had to admit that although at first sceptical, I was a bit intrigued too. Until I looked up at the ‘data.’ For a start, the cheeky freakin’ cyber gyet started giving me marks out of a hundred for me ‘sleep quality’ like it was a test or summat. Givowwer! I started getting flashbacks... It was like being back at secondary school; I was doing me best but me grades were still slipping.

How the hell could I be getting something as natural as sleeping wrong? It was like a job interview or an exam - I’d go to bed feeling optimistic about my chances, then in the morning, despite feeling I’d had a canny sleep, I was told my efforts only warranted a 63% as opposed to 72% the night before.

Thanks to technology, I was now able to fail and feel inadequate as I slept - and that’s progress?

It got worse. Wor lass, was sleeping next to me, had got 82% in her sleep score. I was livid - that wasn’t fair. How the hell had she managed that? We were flipping next to each other all neet!

I began to get paranoid - had she cheated? Maybe she’d nipped me or hogged the duvet more than usual - despite her velvet-tongued denials - leaving me shocked, naked and shivering like I’d just teleported from the future in a Terminator film. The evidence didn’t lie, she maintained, as I was shown a graph that looked like the economy under Gordon Brown’s premiership; it was up and down like a newlywed’s nightie. It spiked when I got up for the nocturnal tinkles that we over 50s now treat as an extreme sport only going into a deep theta wave state about ten minutes before I awoke.

Then the killer blow. The freakin’ satanic software then played back a soundbite of some wassock snoring and had the temerity to suggest it was me !!!! Gerraway, haddaway and shine...who the Donald had crept into our boudoir in the small hours to do that? Ney way it’s me - piece of reffin’ junk.

If it wasn’t our lass (which we both know it was) then it must have been over-sensitive and picked up the salad-dodging chunky lad from two doors down.

The result of this ‘snoregate’ controversy may need some new technology of its own; is there an app to inform you when your other half is ready to let you back in off the huffy couch ?

Mike is performing at the stand on Friday October 25.

The software then played back a soundbite of some wassock snoring and had the temerity to suggest it was me!