He is nearly bald, has an eye with a tendency to play home and away and his innards make a bid for freedom every now and again. He smells a bit as he and the washing machine don't get on - he would never survive the spin cycle.
He is Ted.
Sir Ted of the Bed.
He has outlasted all my bed partners (all?) and doesn't mind at all about my choices in scary bedtime wear. He doesn't mind the crumbs, sharing with the cat or ending up under the bed because I changed the duvet and forgot about him.
He is my friend, my confidant, my hankerchief when none are to hand. He has kept the monsters at bay since 1963.