PITY the wearied, sleep-deprived columnist attempting to find light and frothy subject matter as a general election week draws to a close. Talk about a fool's errand. Yet, here we are.

Mind you, if ever there was a lesson in stepping up your game, then it would be from the light-fingered guests who frequent luxury hotels.

Pilfering mini toiletries, disposable slippers and the occasional fluffy bathrobe are apparently small fry these days. According to a survey by hotel and spa guide Wellness Heaven, brazen guests are making off with everything including the bathroom sink (as happened in one German hotel).

A grand piano vanished from an Italian hotel, never to be seen again, while a guest was caught trying to steal a stuffed boar's head from a hotel in France. The man's friends later bought the hunting trophy and gave it to him as a wedding gift.

What I find most perplexing is that almost 50 hotels have reported mattresses being stolen. Now, you can understand someone who has had an amazing night's sleep would fancy replicating that when he or she got home.

But nicking the actual mattress? That's where logic fails me. How did they sneak it out? A mattress is not something you can hide in a suitcase.

Seared in my mind's eye is a programme I watched years ago about dirty hotel rooms. Stories about sheets not being changed or glasses left unwashed were troubling enough.

Then a black light – the type used for crime scenes on CSI-style TV dramas – was switched on. It revealed an unusual pattern of stains across the bedroom carpeting. Not to mention on the walls, the bedspread, chairs and a stool. The pattern turned out to be trails of urine.

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Next it was the turn of the mattress. This thing lit up like a Christmas tree. Or rather a splodge-and-splattered Jackson Pollock-esque interpretation of a Christmas tree. Where the paint was actually an eyewatering mishmash of bodily fluids. Hell no. I'll pass.

Fifty shades (and more)

SPEAKING of goings-on in the bedroom, the erotic novel Fifty Shades of Grey by EL James has been crowned bestselling book of the decade.

In fact, the trilogy penned by the author – charting the raunchy relationship between protagonist Anastasia Steele and billionaire tycoon Christian Grey – claimed the top three spots.

Fifty Shades of Grey, published in 2011, sold 4.73million copies, followed by Fifty Shades Darker with 3.37m and Fifty Shades Freed with 3.11m. A spin-off novel, Grey, also made the list at number 18, selling 1.11m.

To be honest, I'm not sure EL James got her sums quite right. There are far more than 50 shades of grey. I can attest to this having, in recent weeks, spent an inordinate amount of time in the paint aisles of B&Q.

The innumerable hues come with fancy and confusing names such as vintage smoke, goose down and rock salt. Which is essentially dark grey, light grey and grubby white.

When the film adaptation of Fifty Shades of Grey was released in 2015, the DIY chain was said to be braced for an influx of customers seeking rope, cable ties and tape to emulate the on-screen action. It turned out that an alleged "leaked memo" was a PR stunt.

Rumblings of a Fifty Shades of Grey baby boom predicted by academics didn't come to pass either. Which is perhaps just as well as far as the ick factor is concerned.

Yet, grey has arguably been the colour of the decade. There are people who have decorated their entire homes in the shade (if you don't believe me, take a look at cleaning guru Mrs Hinch's Instagram page or any of the cast from The Only Way Is Essex).

It is a decade that has felt grey in other ways too. Here's hoping that the next one is brighter.

Paws for thought

THE pet portrait industry is booming. I know this because, as a dog owner, every second targeted ad I see online is urging me to commission one.

Forget a bog-standard framed snap of your pooch, moggy or beloved rodent sitting atop the mantelpiece. Now you can be the owner of an elaborate, large-scale portrait that looks like something Elton John might have hanging in his living room.

A recurring theme is the purported "Renaissance" masterpiece, with the animal dressed up as a king or queen. Sometimes a high-ranking soldier.

Other popular gimmicks include ruffs in the vein of Sir Francis Drake about to board the Golden Hind or a smoking jacket, pipe and cravat akin to Hugh Hefner slinking about the Playboy Mansion.

In recent days, a portrait depicting Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn's cat, El Gato, has gone on display at a Huddersfield gallery. Painted by artist Rob Martin, it shows the moggy wearing a Che Guevara hat with 16th-century clothing.

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As a nation of animal worshippers, we have lost our way. The ancient Egyptians will be spinning in their burial chambers.