Call me old-fashioned, but a duvet does not make for a well-dressed bed. No matter how much one tries to smooth and flatten it beneath a bedcover, the unruly duvet remains an inherently dishevelled object and the bed never looks properly made. We can tell its sagging form is lurking there, even when supposedly concealed by something altogether smarter.

Why do we turn a blind eye to these unattractive lumps flopping around in our bedrooms? It must be we forgive them their slovenly appearance and louche behaviour because we love them so much we can’t imagine life without them.

When it comes to doing the laundry, however, I have to question the usefulness of the duvet. Surely I’m not alone in resenting the trouble it takes to change the cover. Think of all those futile experiments with safety pins in the so-called corners, the crawling around inside the damn thing, turning oneself into a demented raviolo every time. It’s so maddeningly fussy I’ve often wondered if a simple sheet and a few blankets might not be easier. Hotel chambermaids are in agreement on this, and they know whereof they speak. It takes teams working in tandem to fiddle endlessly with duvet covers; precious time is saved with the quick flick and tuck of fresh sheets.

Aesthetics and convenience aside, there’s also the question of weight to consider. Americans are particularly bad in this department; they don’t seem to understand bedding at all. Their fabulously extravagant central heating has led to the widespread use of dismal, lightweight, man-made fleece blankets and thin polyester quilts stuffed with insubstantial microfibres. They’re just not right; it’s like trying to snuggle up beneath a wispy sheet of Kleenex.

That’s fine if you’re in the tropics and need nothing more than a mosquito net for cover. Away from the equator, however, a little heft is needed. In this regard I’m not only anti-synthetic, I’m also unconvinced about the comfort provided by even the most luxurious natural goosedown.

There’s no question the stuff’s warm, but it never allows a bed to look crisp or well made, and it’s too flighty to compete with the reassurance of a solid blanket.

For those who suffer from galloping insomnia and need all the help they can get, improvements on the duvet are obtainable. My search for things that contribute to a decent night’s kip led to the discovery of a wondrous item known as a weighted blanket.

They’re made primarily for children with autism, but not for one nanosecond did that prevent yours truly from shopping for one online.

Their efficacy has been tried and tested by Dr Temple Grandin, the autistic author and designer of humane livestock-handling equipment used as standard worldwide. A BBC documentary about her is titled The Woman Who Thinks Like a Cow, but she knows how to soothe fretful humans, too.

Grandin’s autism affords her a keen eye for visual and sensory detail; she puts herself in the stockyard animals’ position, the better to understand what alarms them when in captivity and how best to calm them down. Often it’s something as simple as preventing lights creating sharp black shadows, or removing sounds that might be construed as disturbing.

Sometimes a contraption she calls a “squeeze machine” is used to help skittish cattle chill out. I’ve never seen one but it sounds like a very slow airbag, generating just the right amount of firm but gentle hug. She uses one on herself whenever panic attacks beckon and the anxieties and stresses of her condition threaten to overwhelm.

One doesn’t have to have autism, or to bebovine, to relate to those feelings. Fortunately, one doesn’t have to invest in a squeeze machine either. A weighted blanket sends you straight into the arms of Morpheus faster than any amount of sheep or thread-counting will.

A warning: They don’t look very pretty. Made of square pouches filled with poly pellets, the blanket could almost pass for an antique eiderdown, but is betrayed by the limited colours and horrid fabrics available online. No matter, it still looks better than a duvet, and fabrics are easily changed. The important aspect (here comes the science) is the proven deep pressure therapy it delivers to the body. The pressure causes serotonin and dopamine to scamper out of the brain and flood your fitful nervous system with good vibes.

Since mine arrived I’ve been sleeping like a swaddled babe. If sleep is the chief nourisher in life’s feast then, truly, this magic blankie is a life-changer. My only fear is that I might start mooing in my sleep.

Kate O’Toole is an actress and a recovering Facebook addict