Nothing to report I’m afraid, since I’ve spent the last four days crawling from bed to sofa; waking up every hour in the night from feverish dreams in which I have to direct an army of tiny doctors to different parts of my body to cure my ailments with tiny hammers and saws; texting my mum with pitiful messages like “I am despairing of EVER feeling better”; and rueing the day I ever thought time off work sick would be fun and relaxing. It is not.
So my news is this: today I have clothes on! Granted, I am still lying on the sofa with a hot water bottle, under a blanket. But I am not doing it in pyjamas, and that is progress. I just ate two crumpets and put some washing in the machine, so things are looking up.
Still, though. Am terribly sorry for self.