Is it just ME?

Or is your side of the bed set in stone?

FOR me, it would be like my staunch Leaver partner announcing he wanted to revoke Article 50. Or informing me out of the blue that he had forsaken his beloved rare steaks for a strictly vegan diet.

Such a sudden about-turn is more than most relationships can handle. But, worse by far, would be if he decided he wanted to swap sides of the bed.

When Irish journalist Steve O’Rourke took to social media this week to say that he and his partner do that very thing, on an impromptu basis, I wasn’t the only one who was shocked — he triggered a Twitter meltdown.

Sorry, Steve, but it’s just not on. The mere thought of swapping sides throws me into paroxysms of anxiety. It would be as bad as being evicted from my own home.

In other words, I would become a displaced person in the sanctuary that is my bed, and I doubt I’d ever get a decent night’s sleep again. In my experience, a peaceful sharing of the double bed is about demarcated lines.

I can only sleep on my right side facing out. To maintain this position if we swapped sides, I’d end up facing towards the centre of the bed, which would be catastrophically claustrophobic.

And call me a prude, but despite the intimate nature of what goes on between the sheets, actually swapping sides seems almost, well, unseemly. Like getting into someone else’s bath water after they’ve been soaking in it for half an hour.

Bediquette demands a delicate balancing of needs, his and yours. I have to grit my teeth over his 6am alarm call as he has such an early start for work. He copes with my late-to-bed habit with the No Rustling of Pages Rule, meaning I can only read a Kindle.

I’ll go quite far in pursuit of harmony in the bedroom. But not as far as the other side of the bed. Not that. Not ever.

The mere thought of swapping sides throws me into paroxysms of anxiety