I had thought to write a pithy, yet witty, thing about my birthday, which was last week. (thank you). However, Procrastination being the thief of time means that I'm sitting shivering on the sofa with a hanky stuffed up each nostril being glared at by the cat and writing this instead. During this time of illness and suffering, Psychkitty has appointed herself my lookerafterer. She makes sure I go to bed, with frequent fluid intake (cups of tea, with teaspoons of milk for the nursemaid of course) and if I do have to sit up, I'm kept warm with my own furry hot-water bottle. She is now annoyed that I'm typing this instead of being in bed.
What happened to the old fashioned 3 day colds? Now everything seems to be an evil influenza type virus necessitating a complete shutdown for a couple of days. I had stopped taking the vitamin tabs, so I suppose the Tories would say it was self inflicted and should stop my luxury hot orange juice. Hopefully I'll be back on form tomorrow, though more like Friday, when life can resume and I can start of the business plan for the art gallery....
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