Snoring can be awful. Married friends of mine sleep in separate rooms because of the man's snoring. And the room she's currently in is next to a railway line.
Now we learn that actress Helena Bonham Carter and her man, film director Tim Burton, sleep in separate homes because of his snoring. If Helena BC was my squeeze she'd be going nowhere.
I've always thought of her as a sweetie and, indeed, I met her once. She looked up at me, smiled and said: "Thanks." I replied in a manly, satisfied voice: "No problem."
I should clarify a few things here. I was in a Thai restaurant with friends, and we were asked to leave, as usual. We'd taken an age, and the simpering waitress requested that we bog off to make way for another party. I was last out, as I'm the one who always straightens the chairs and gives the staff a parting lecture on hygiene and not voting Conservative. I passed the hungry party on the way out, and there she was, sitting on a chair like a normal person. That's when we had our exchange.
Brief though it was, it was preferable to the following.
"Oh, for God's sake, stop snoring."
"Right, I'm sleeping in a separate house."