Sick
I've been ill since Monday night, struck down by a nasty stomach bug. I don't know if it's one with a posh name, or just a common or garden stomach bug, but either way, it felled me completely. I'm a lot better than I was, but still far from recovered. My ambition for the weekend is now just to be able to eat a normal meal, and walk as far as the end of the drive without swaying and falling over.
I've been too headachey to read and too swimmy to get up and change DVDs, so I've spent pretty much the entire time under a duvet on the couch, watching whatever I could find on the TV. For someone with absolutely no appetite, I've watched a surprising number of cookery shows. How do Masterchef contestants manage to prepare the 194 elements they need for their meals and have them all coming together at the same time? How many jolly Christmas shows about Christmas merriment were actually filmed in August, featuring warm people decked in tinsel, trying to look cold? While channel hopping, I saw about ten seconds of Britain's Next Top Model, in which a stick-thin girl was being told she was too fat. I also watched various American crime shows, usually managing to fall asleep just before the baddie was revealed. Well, that was on day two. On day three, I specialised in falling asleep for most of the episode, waking up in time to find out whodunnit, but having no idea whatitwastheydid.
Dreams were strange. On day one, I dreamt that academics across the world were being renamed pachydemics, and were allowed to study nothing but elephants. They were still allowed to keep with their respective disciplines, but it all had to be elephant-related: the astrophysics of elephants, the mathematics of elephants, the economics of elephants, and so on. Very odd.
I chuckled darkly to see on the BBC website that people suffering from norovirus were being advised not to visit people in hospital. If norovirus is anything like this, getting as far as the front door is a feat a bit like climbing Mount Everest, let alone getting as far as a hospital.
I've been too headachey to read and too swimmy to get up and change DVDs, so I've spent pretty much the entire time under a duvet on the couch, watching whatever I could find on the TV. For someone with absolutely no appetite, I've watched a surprising number of cookery shows. How do Masterchef contestants manage to prepare the 194 elements they need for their meals and have them all coming together at the same time? How many jolly Christmas shows about Christmas merriment were actually filmed in August, featuring warm people decked in tinsel, trying to look cold? While channel hopping, I saw about ten seconds of Britain's Next Top Model, in which a stick-thin girl was being told she was too fat. I also watched various American crime shows, usually managing to fall asleep just before the baddie was revealed. Well, that was on day two. On day three, I specialised in falling asleep for most of the episode, waking up in time to find out whodunnit, but having no idea whatitwastheydid.
Dreams were strange. On day one, I dreamt that academics across the world were being renamed pachydemics, and were allowed to study nothing but elephants. They were still allowed to keep with their respective disciplines, but it all had to be elephant-related: the astrophysics of elephants, the mathematics of elephants, the economics of elephants, and so on. Very odd.
I chuckled darkly to see on the BBC website that people suffering from norovirus were being advised not to visit people in hospital. If norovirus is anything like this, getting as far as the front door is a feat a bit like climbing Mount Everest, let alone getting as far as a hospital.