What's up your Nose?

I was on a 'boys' cycling weekend in Thredbo and bunked in with another lycra lad for three nights. You couldn't swing a cat in the room and after one night there was enough purring going on to have me climbing the walls.

Sleeping beside a bloke who snores does pose the question "what's up your nose?" In this case, I think there was a lot.

It was torture. My regulation eight hours of heavenly slumber dragged into what felt like 24 hours of blackness. Seconds became minutes, minutes turned into hours and the hours were infinite. The sun was my only saviour.

Things did get off to a sombre start. All was quiet until the reverberations started. A mozzie can be met head on with a can of Mortein but a freight train driven by a snorer can't be derailed.

After about five minutes I heard the train in the distance. Heavy breathing. At low decibels the sound was almost melodic. But before long I found a steam locomotive was lying at the opposite platform.

Both nostrils flared to ensure enough oxygen was inhaled to feed the beast. Every now and then my room buddy's mouth would open to create an extra vent and trigger the epiglottis into action. It rattled while I held onto my bedhead in fear of falling onto the floor.

Before lights out we had asked each other whether adenoidal arrhythmia was an issue. Whilst I confirmed silence from my side, the would-be train driver admitted to producing the odd sound and that in order to stop it, his wife just told him to "roll over".

With that recollection in mind, "turn over darl", "turn over" I whispered in a high-pitch, veiled  attempt at female mimicry. It did work, as did thumping the table, kicking the bottom of my bed, sending out an audible groan from my side of the platform, but only for a minute or two before the engine soon started up again. It was relentless.

When he did turn over the brief moments of silence were golden. But it didn't take long for a stifled gargle to start again.

By 2am I thought Snowy Hydro II was up and running for there was some serious power
being generated from within our room.

This train also had a whistle which blew in unison with every exhaled breath. I tried to focus on its rythym in the hope that I'd fall into a coma and never wake up. But that ploy didn't work either.

It was the mournful cry of black crows outside the window that brought
an end to the misery. Morning had thankfully broken.

 "Sleep well?" he asked.

"Like a baby" I replied.