I’ve been suffering from a fairly mild cold/flu type illness whose main bugbear is that it is of a relapsing nature. Whenever you think you are a little better and rouse yourself off your sofa to do something as demanding as refreshing the water in a vase of flowers, or think about writing a long overdue letter or email, your throat fires up and you are once more prone on your sofa.

A mildish illness such as this shows you what levels of energy are required for relatively simple things.

This is the first writing – modest though it is – I’ve done for some days. I have to go searching for words that normally come leaping forward faster than I can process them, and after a few lack lustre sentences I think, oh I can’t be bothered, and who cares about this anyway?

It obviously requires energy for me, at any rate, to remain polite. I’m wandering around in a make-my-day snarl of irritability – babies cry at the very sight of me and dogs cringe. I cut in on some hapless seller of something nobody wants from Bombay (or whatever it calls itself now), “For heaven’s sake, get to the point, and could we speak English.” When the poor man replied, with dignity, “I am speaking my best English, Madam,” I felt sorry for my rudeness and apologised and said I was ill. “I will not disturb you further, Madam,” he said, “and I wish you a good – ” and then he could not remember the word for ‘recovery’ but I thanked him anyway.

As for clothes – can’t be bothered seeing they match. Jewellery – who cares?

People kindly phone me up or come to see me and I can’t think of anything to say to them. You realise your normal fizz and chat and what passes for wit does take energy.

Oh well. Doubtless I will recover. Meanwhile can somebody stop the sun shining in my eyes; people are wearing perfume that’s too strong; and somebody’s breathing so loudly I can actually hear them… (Now I think about it I remember exactly when this illness began, about a week before I recognised it, when I sat outside at a Maison Blanc in Winchester and got in an enormous stress because I could hear the man at the next table chewing. Actually I could hear the slow gear changing of his thinking as well, but I did retain enough sense of normality to think, what on earth is wrong with ME, and not, with him.)

John comes home late from a day at golf, laden this time with a trophy, bottles he has won, news of people, full of good cheer and I am glad to see him, so maybe the tide is turning. Besides which my washing which has hung limply on the line getting rained on for two days has miraculously dried today…

A few weeks’ gap coming up from me – no doubt this is A Good Thing!





About adhocannie
I am a good natured woman with a long memory and a swift tongue. I like loooking at things and thinking about them. Also food, clothes, travel, reading, sewing. I try to see the ridiculous in things, but sobriety of reflection keeps edgting in. I have husband, children, grandchildren, friends... I feel rich in things that matter. I am a happy exile. I like writing. I do not like talking about me (though I do.). You willl be much more interesting.

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