The world of manchester, not the city in England, but what you put on your bed, is run by comedians.

I love beautiful sheets and pillow cases, adore elegant quilt covers and comfy comforters. So when we go shopping, I gravitate towards the bedding department.

My husband has absolutely no interest in sheets and doona covers, but I drag him along and ask his opinion on which pillow case goes best with what set of sheets. That’s when I wish I had a gay male friend with refined decorating tastes who could become excited about aubergine or pistachio or buttercup combinations. “What’s the difference?” is the only comment that ‘he who shall cart the shopping back to the car’ makes when I ask his opinion.

So I ignore the pagan response and make my selection. We get the heavy package home, unpack the ruddy lot and start reading the instructions. Wash separately before use. Gosh, and those creases were so perfect! Then we read further down. Do not dry clean, do not tumble dry, line dry only, do not machine wash…

What? Do not machine wash? Handwash only? That’s what it says all right. I phone the company and learn that because of the braiding or the decoration, it is better that I wash my King Size doona cover by hand. I suppose I can then pound it with a soft river rock as well.

But the instructions assure me that I am allowed to iron it on a cool setting if I so desire. Well, I didn’t so desire, nor did I wash this massive thing by hand. Wringing it out would have been fun, wouldn’t it? I was looking for the punchline in the instructions and all I got was the handwashline.

We drove back to the shopping mall yesterday to return another lousy purchase. I’m beginning to suspect that St Mastercard, the patron saint of shoppers, is toying with me.