No head to speak of

They're all around the bed. Of course they are. Where else would they be? I can hear the sea. I can hear the sea. That rattling again, though. I took it upon myself to apply a little oil (well, margarine) to the joints of this bed-thing they have me in and ended up with bits of it all over the place- lengths of tubing, mattress springs and pillow-insides. The staff were very kind in the matter. I'd missed my supper in the kerfuffle, so a couple of slices of toast and a brown betty-ful of nicely understewed tea were produced from somewhere, much to my grateful appreciation. I few things niggled, though, as I munched. Where was that smell of salt coming from? What sort of salad was this (on my toast, no less)? And- this plucked from the memory of my afternoon's unscrewing- why were the tubular support sections of the bed filled with sand?

That chap on the ceiling is gone, at least.