Deathly

I woke up this morning feeling like shit on a stick. I slept really badly and subsequently woke up with no reserves to work with. I literally hauled my sorry arse up the hill to Highgate Village to get the bus down to Kentish Town, when under normal circumstances I would have walked the entire distance. Once you've got yourself up into the village, it's a solid down hill and rather charming stroll through the Heath. But I couldn't manage it.

I got myself some lovely cold and flu tablets which the woman in the chemist assured me were two different types of pill for day and night time use, "but don't try to drive on the night time tablets... They might make you feel drowsy." Sadly when I opened the box there didn't seem to be any difference between the two blister packs inside! Just what I needed this morning: a lottery. As a compromise I took half the recommended dose. The idea of getting to work, smacked off my head on codeine felt a bit hard core and inappropriate.

The work went well. I think. It may have been that I was just in that lovely space that a cold can sometimes being about when you're warm and nicely dosed up. Because I can't talk about what I was doing, all I'll say is that I worked in my spare time on Brass, and made inroads into the song Barnbow Lassies, which I'm told is a popular ditty with younger audience members of the show although I'm not sure Brass is exactly one for the under twelves. Hilary's son, Jago, for example, loved Billy Whistle, until he found out it was about death, and now it gives him nightmares. Oops.

I'm presently waiting for Nathan to come back from his knitting group to find out if he's feeling any better today. I do hope so. I'm also rather hungry so I hope he hurries up. #knitwidow