The many and various ways I pass the time now has a new addition. Usually it involves drinking coffee whilst sitting at a computer keeping in touch with chums, or sipping wine sitting on our tiny terrace catching the sun, and wondering what else I can do to avoid any cleaning or tidying or putting away of stuff and things that aren't even MINE. And now I am going to type this blog. Provided that doesn't become a chore as well, in which case...

Tuesday, 7 December 2010

Coddling My Molly

I have taken my tonsils off to bed, the better to take care of them.  The back of my throat is an arc of raw red, with a bright pink uvula descending therefrom and a yellow-spotted tonsil on one end.  I think spots like these will march over the red arc and take up residence on the other tonsil before long.  Every once in a while I get up to look in The Husband's magnified shaving mirror to see what progress this pesky pathogen has made.  It's doing very well so far in its colonisation of my soft palate. I'm impressed.

The Dog is with me, lying curled up just behind my bum, comfortingly.  I am lying on my side typing this with one finger.  The other finger I normally use to type is on the hand attached to the arm which is propping my head up, so otherwise engaged.  The Dog has been with me all day.  He does this when someone is in bed a bit poorly.  It's the pack mentality - everyone moves at the rate of the slowest.  In this case no movement at all.

I had the most bizarre dream this morning.  In it I had engaged the services of a very expensive singing teacher, from London, who'd brought up his star soprano for me to do duets with - I was paying her as well.  We were in a village hall which I had hired (yet more expense) and when we broke off for refreshments they were provided by the local WI (was I reimbursing them too?).  I drank only water, a strange dry dusty water which made me thirstier and more parched than I had been before.  In the second half of the lesson I couldn't sing properly, only croak, so I was treated to the expensive ignominy of the guest soprano being wonderful and myself sounding like a bull frog. I apologised to the teacher who chided me sternly, saying I was always getting ill and that had put paid to all the careers I'd ever attempted.

Which is true, but my dream had no business rubbing it in.

When I woke up I had sandpaper where my soft palate should be and a feeling of profound failure left over from the dream. And so I determined to stay in bed feeling sorry for myself all day, only getting up to make hot honey and lemon.  Now we have a laptop I have all I need in milady's boudoir - Facebook, e-mail, eBay, this blog, i-player and 4oD.  Add to that the phone and The Dog's gently reassuring ministrations I'll be as right as rain by, ooooh, about Friday, I think...


  1. I haven't much to say but still trying to actually POST a comment... If by chance I succeed, hope you feel better no sooner than you would like to!

  2. Ah-ha. Got there. I think in the onerous process of verifying that I am me to Google I may have missed a step. All my own fault!