SEVERAL years ago the housemate and I risked life and limb while attempting to assemble an ottoman bed.

As we reached the final stages of the process, the pneumatic piston designed to make it easy to open the lid burst into life unexpectedly pinning us both against a wardrobe door. Unable to get enough leverage to close the lid and too far away from the phone to summon help we feared the worst, while sadly acknowledging it would take several weeks for us to starve to death.

Fortunately after a few moments of alternating between hysterical laugher and genuine concern, we managed to free ourselves vowing never to do anything as dangerous again.

Which is why it came as a bit of a shock to find ourselves in a similar situation this weekend, albeit doing nothing more risk laden than sitting in the garden.

With nothing on the agenda for Saturday I grabbed my book and headphones, plastered myself in sun cream and every insect repellent known to man in a vain effort to avoid the plague of bites I’ve been tortured by for the first time every this summer, and headed to the garden for an afternoon of quiet relaxation.

After weeks spent creating a quiet reading arbour in a secluded corner of the garden with just the perfect balance of sun and shade I popped my icy cold drink on the table and prepared to settle into one of the comfy looking recliner deckchairs The Mother had deemed surplus to requirement and passed on to us.

“Don’t sit in that one because it’s in the sun and you want to sit in the shade,” said the housemate just as I poised to lower myself into the chair.

As I grudgingly moved all my accoutrements to the other side of the seating area she took her place in the sun and attempted in vain to recline the seat.

“It won’t move at all,” she announced after following my very basic instructions on how to achieve the desired position.

“They haven’t been used in a while so they might need a bit of oiling,”I explained finally giving up on watching her futile efforts and offering some help by manually navigating her seat into the perfect degree of recline and locking it firmly.

Heading over to my recliner I lowered myself down giving the chair a hefty shove backwards, expecting to experience the same problem.

To my shock however whereas the housemate’s chair was in serious need of lubrication…mine had obviously benefitted from a generous squirt of WD40 and swung backwards with all the grace of fully trained gymnast….an attribute I did not share!

With legs akimbo and my head in the downright position I braced for impact with the ground, but in all fairness our gravity free deckchairs lived up to their name and the seat clicked into a resting place perfectly set for anyone planning to endure an alfresco gynaecological procedure.

“Don’t just lie there help me!!!” I cried to the housemate who was viewing my predicament from her own supine position.

“I can’t,” she replied. “You’ve locked my chair into position and I can’t sit up!”

“I can’t get enough oomph to pull myself up. All the blood is rushing to my head!” I replied submitting to helpless laughter which bordered on panic.

“It’s the bloody ottoman bed all over again,” she sighed. “Your Mother will come down eventually if we don’t answer the phone by midnight!”