The bedroom comes alive with the sound of . . . snoring. No, not a Julie Andrews make-over, but reference to the sound created by the malodorous trio of nose, throat and mouth. 

It has been a sound that has intrigued me since post pubescence when my parents’ bedroom became a place of interest. They snored to high heaven, sounding more like young hadidas in full flight.

In later life my in-laws, including my Heidi, have carried on this loud and forceful tradition of nose noise. Evidently, although my accusers have been unable to prove it, my sinuses are not exempt from this tiresome activity keeping the conscious audience from their beauty sleep.

There are reasons given for this invasive affliction. One is called ‘tongue-based snoring’, when the tongue falls back into the throat at night, partially blocking the airway and causing that harsh snoring sound when air tries to force its way through the blocked airway.

The other, ‘open mouth snoring’, is when your mouth falls open at night, impairing your nasal breathing, and forces air to go through your throat and over the tongue and soft palate, causing tissues to vibrate and produce snoring.

All very well, but there are no conclusive reasons given why the threesome behave in this uncivilised way. My mom had a theory. She claimed every time my dad spent too much time tilting the Coke bottle after dinner, the offending apertures joined forces and did a full-on big band number. One night, she swears, the duet churned out, When the saints go marching in. 

With a wicked smile she adds, “I just wish the saints would go off to sleep”. No, she hadn’t shared my dad’s obsession with Coke – in fact, she believed it was bad for the teeth. My dad, however, believed snoring kept you humble, saying even the queen snored. 

My mom shot back with, “Ja, but she probably snored ‘Rule Britannia’ – nothing humble about that”.

I have my own theory. But like the coronavirus vaccines, I’m unable to prove it – yet. I’ve noticed each time we get stuck into rare rib-eye steak with slap chips, the night shift band has a field day.

One night, I swear (a la my mom), the strains of “Forever Young” were beautifully rendered through Heidi’s apertures. OK, we shouldn’t have had that extra chunk of steak and last soggy chip floating in oil.

No matter how you look at it, snoring is here to stay. So instead I’m going to change the song sheet to “Hush-a-bye Baby” and “Dreaming of a white Christmas” to help put the insomniacs to sleep. Zzzz!