Glorious victory. And inglorious ailments.

Hello, happy 2015 etcetera etcetera etcetera.  To be fair, I have very little clue what day it is, never mind what year.  This is down to the usual Christmas/New Year bewilderment that happens every year, but also because this year, for a change, we all got really ill over the holidays.

I don't know why I refer to them as "the holidays," given that Mr WithaY and I no longer work a standard Monday to Friday pattern.  Every day we're not working could be described as a "holiday."

Anyhoo. We had all kinds of plans for Christmas, all sorts of parties and events we were planning on going to, or hosting.  Day trips, even.

Mr WithaY and I went to the Bath Christmas market, where we bought gee-gaws and trinkets and trumpery*.  These included:

• A wooden trivet made of slices of wood all set in some sort of resin, which looks like an arty photograph.  I love it.  

• Some beautifully soft grey and blue lambswool fingerless mittens which I wear almost constantly outside, 

• A stained glass Christmas tree decoration from a very young, very silent, Belarusian nun.  

• A wreath made from dried apples, oranges, cinnamon sticks and (I think) Scotch Bonnet chillies, which now hangs in the front porch.  

We shopped for food, we made sure there was Champagne for Christmas Day, we moved furniture to ensure the tree would fit in the sitting room.  The decorations went up, the house looked festive, we were ready.

Things started well with several members of the extended family arriving for the weekend before Christmas, much jollity and dog-walking, and a tremendous curry where we all sat at a great big long table and ate a vast selection of lovely food.  The remainder of the family arrived the next day and there was more hilarity, dog-walking, exchanging of gifts and a buffet.  We do like a buffet in our family.  Mostly because you can have three slices of ham if you want to, AND a sausage roll AND some celery AND a bit of cheese.

The majority of the family went to their respective homes again, leaving just Mr WithaY and I, and my lovely Mum here for the Christmas period.  The first few days were perfect. We went out a bit, drank lots of tea, ate lots of delicious home-made food, watched some Christmas TV, and looked forward to the Big Day.  I went to work on Christmas Eve, Mr WithaY and Mum stayed in and watched a DVD together.

By the time I finished work at 6pm, I was feeling very odd.  Dizzy. Hot and cold.  Headachy.  I got home, and the others were feeling much the same.  And that, dear readers, was that.  We all went down with the flu as if felled by hammers, and for the next three or four days hardly moved.

Mr WithaY and I, whilst feeling dreadful, were able to eat a little, and even make cups of tea and so on, but poor Mum just got worse and worse, to the point where she ended up staying with us for an extra week, and was then only taken home on New Years Day to go straight into hospital. Thankfully, after a week of top-notch care, she has returned home and seems to be much better. but it was a horrible time for all of us.

Mr WithaY and I have both been left with horrible racking coughs, and intermittent high temperatures, but we are both much better than we were.  I have no energy, and even walking the dog around the village, or pushing a shopping trolley round the supermarket leaves me shaking and exhausted, but hopefully in a few days that will pass too.

The good news is that I have lost a stone, for the first time ever over Christmas, and am definitely less podgy than I was.  A few days of eating normally will probably put paid to that, but it's nice to begin a New Year feeling like I am already on the right track.

 Other news:  Prior to the Great Flu Outbreak, I was the proud winner of this:

The Stonehenge volunteers had their Christmas party, and held a Great British Bake-Off competition, where people were invited to submit cakes for JUDGEMENT.


I made this, a coffee cake with home-made apricot jam in the middle, and butterscotch chocolate ganache icing. Mr WithaY added the Neolithic deer drawing:

And it won!  I assumed, when Mr WithaY came into the pub to tell me (I was at the work Christmas meal, so wasn't at the Stonehenge event, clashing dates, sadly) that there had only been one or two entries, and we'd all won a cup.

Oh, but no.  No.

There were apparently about 30 entries, and the judges did it all very seriously, tasting everything and making their decision very carefully.

AND I WON!

Hurrah!  Here's the glorious cup in situ, dominating the room:

I am hoping I get to keep it forever, rather than having to return it next year.   That reminds me, I must add it to our insurance.

So.  The flu.  A quiet and very worrying Christmas.  A lingering annoying cough.  No other news.

Here's a lovely picture of the dog that my Middle Sis took on one of our family walks.  I really, really like it.  It shows you exactly what a friendly, sweet-natured girl she is.  And the dog is nice too.

Here's to a good New Year, and that nobody gets the flu again.


Oh, and once again there was no Dinotopia on TV.  Outrageous.









*you have to talk like that in Bath. It's the LAW.

Give him the chair!

I went into town this morning to pick up my sick note from the doctor's surgery.  Is it still called a sick note?  I think now it's a "Well, ok, you can stay off work, but wrap up warm and come back and see me in a few days, and if you're skiving I'll tell on you," note.

Anyway.  I went and collected it, then went to the weigh-in at Fat Club.  Stayed the same as I was last week, which I was actually pleased about as it's been a weird few weeks and my eating habits have been out of whack.  The antibiotics meant I was feeling even worse than the chest infection was making me, and my appetite had gone, so I was eating for the sake of it, rather than because I wanted to.   What with the stress of poor old Father-in-law WithaY being in hospital, and Mr WithaY and I not being allowed to go and see him with our colds/coughs, it was all a bit much.  So I shovelled down far more bread and honey than I am supposed to.  Comfort eating.  It works in the short term, but then you get depressed because you're a fat bastard. Gah.

Encouraging developments, though.  Father-in-law is out of hospital and back at the nursing home, where he hasn't been tipped out of his wheelchair again.  Yet.  We popped in briefly last night to see him, and he looks better, still terribly frail, but more cheerful, and delighted to see us.

On the way to the weigh-in, I walked past a cafe, outside of which gathers the rank and file of local life.  As I walked past, I overheard an ENORMOUS woman saying to her friend, "Worrrrl, I weren't going to not say nothing, was I?  Was I?  You know me..I says what I think, and if I dunt like something, I tell them, dunni?  Dunni?"

Her friend nodded eagerly, clearly enjoying the retelling of whatever epic encounter this was.  If I hadn't been late for my meeting I would have stopped to hear the rest. 

I have a feeling that the large lady came off best in it.  She looked as though it would take more than a battle of words to defeat her, and I imagine that she'd never even realise if she was taking part in a battle of wits.  She had the air of someone who thinks nothing of picking up a chair and twatting the other party with it to get her point across.

Other news: Watched Avatar on DVD last night. Boy I wish I'd seen it at the cinema. I loved it. Mr WithaY loved it too, and he'd been lukewarm about watching it to begin with.


I want to go and see Iron Man 2, but the reviews haven't been great, and Slyde was less than complimentary, so maybe that can wait for DVD too. 

Has beans

No news is, well, my life at the moment.  I'm still poorly, although slightly better than I was.  I'm still coughing up hideous, revolting, alarming slime, but there's less blood in it.   I'm still feeling mighty sorry for myself, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

By way of variety, on Friday I coughed so hard that I put my back out.  That was nice.  I was sitting down at my desk, slightly twisted as I was putting something in the bin, and was overtaken by a violent coughing fit.  As I barked and gasped and groaned and wheezed, I felt something in my lower back go "twanggggg", which meant I went "coughcoughcough ohhhhhhhh FUCK noooooooo coughcoughcough."

Today is the first day since then that I have been able to stand up more or less upright.  Mr WithaY has been off work today with a horrible, horrible cold, so the pair of us have been shuffling, wheezing and groaning our way around the house, trying to make tea without one or both of us dropping dead.  It's been like the shittest remake of Planet of the Apes imaginable. 

It's been a laugh a minute, I can tell you. 

On the plus side, I've been feeling less feverish and weepy, so all in all things are improving.   Ah, Spring. 

Other news:  I think all Mr WithaY's carefully-planted bean seedlings are dying, as it's been a bit chilly at night.  We may need to plant a load more.

Whinging

Lordy I am tired of being ill. I still have bronchitis, I am still coughing like Old Man Steptoe and I am still on a ton of drugs. Gah.

No news, no exciting events, nothing of any note other than more bloody whinging about being ill, which everyone is sick of. Especially me.

The single activity this week to take me out of the village consisted of driving to the railway station and buying my season ticket. I got about halfway before I had to pull over because I was coughing so much I thought I might explode my eyeballs out of my head.*

Have done a bit of ironing, a bit of laundry, a bit of cleaning, all in short bursts because I can't bloody BREATHE.

Gah. And Pah.




*I didn't, but it was close

Chest update

Not what you think, probably.

I have been diagnised with acute bronchitis. Yay me! I'm cute!

I have a big box of extra strength antibiotics the size of marbles, which I have to take two (TWO! They're enormous!) twice a day.

Also, to add to my joy, I have a box of steroid pills, which I have to take six of once a day.

I read the enclosed leaflet.

Side effects include vomiting, psychosis and "hairyness". Reminds me, I must watch "An American Werewolf in London" again sometime.

I have been signed off work for "up to" 10 days but I think I will see how I feel after the end of this week and then decide whether to go in or not early next week.

I'd sigh deeply but it would make me cough.

Hack III - The Revenge

So. Absolutely nothing of any interest has happened to me in the last few days. Mainly because I have been spending my time alternating between:

1) Coughing until the top of my head feels like it is coming off and my lungs will shortly be appearing out of my nose.

2) Trying not to cough, then remembering that I am supposed to in order to expel the goo demons inhabiting my lungs.

3) Taking antibiotics. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. They've prescribed me the ones they give to people who have been exposed to Anthrax. Which makes me feel a bit special and Secret Agent-y.

4) Drinking water. It says I have to on my Anthrax-b-Gone pill packet.

5) Crying like a big girl. This mostly happens at night when I am exhausted and unable to sleep because of activities (1) and (2). I am currently exiled to the spare room, so that Mr WithaY can get some sleep and doesn't try to kill me in the night after I keep him awake with activities (1), (2) and (5). On the plus side, I get to wake up and do the "Where am I?" thing every day, looking adorably like Clara Bow.*.

6) Listening to my chest rattle. This is both gross and alarming but unavoidable when I lay down to begin my nightly cough/hack/weep/cough routine.

7) Phoning my new boss and trying to croak down the phone at him until he understands that his shiny new team member is both unreliable and a sickly old bat. He must be delighted.

8) Trying to read the huge scary heap of documents I brought home last week and realising I am so far out of my depth with my new job that I don't even know where to start.

9) Trying to get another appointment with the doctor** to see if I am improving or just sinking into a Romantic Poet stylee decline.

Still. Mustn't grumble.


*In my head

**2.30 today. Hurrah. They just called me back.

Hack II

Still have a chest infection.

Still feel bloody awful.

That is all.

Hack

I have a chest infection.

Marvellous.

I went to the doctor today as I have been coughing more and more since Saturday. He listened to my chest, and said I was rattling. Ugh. I have a week's worth of antibiotics and some really horrible cough medicine.

One amusing thing. It wasn;t my usual doctor, and as he looked at my records on the computer, he seemed puzzled.

Doctor: Have you ever been much (pause) heavier than you are now?

Me: Um, no, I think this is about as fat as I've ever been*. Why do you ask?

Doctor: Well, according to your records, you weigh 245 Kg. How tall are you?

Me: Five foot ten.

Doctor: That gives you a body mass index of about 75. (Looks at me again) Hmm, that can't be right.

He then insisted on weighing me, just to make sure I didn't in fact weigh as much as a small bus.

So. Even a trained medical professional had to check that I am not quite so huge that walls would need to be demolished to get me out of his office. Gah.


*Thanks for asking you git

Bones

So, apart from the horrors of the rugby, what else is new? Not a lot really. Cooked a damn fine roast dinner today, without burning myself, the food or the house down, which is encouraging.

Still got a cough, and have decided that I will go and see the doc if I still have it by the end of the week. It feels like there's something stuck in my throat, and I recollected that we had some superb mackerel* the other night. Maybe I have a little fish bone lodged in there somewhere.

Just like the Queen Mum, me.

Maybe the doc will deploy a flunky with a long pair of golden tongs to hoik it out.

The week ahead is looming menacingly. Sunday nights still feel like "back to school" nights, even though it's about 25 years since I was at school. Still, thanks to the mammoth ironing session yesterday (whilst watching the rugby, gah, fucking hell what a disaster) I have lots to wear.

So. Dull post, sorry. Still, on the bright side, it was short.


*line caught by Mr WithaY, no dolphins were harmed in the making of this meal

Blisters

On my fingers! How rock and roll is that?

No, seriously. Is it?

I have no idea.

Had so much fun at my mate's house last night. His son played the drums (rather well I must say), mate and I made lots of noise on a Strat and Les Paul respectively, and mate's daughter joined us on the bass for a bit. She claimed she couldn't play it but to be honest it didn't matter.

It didn't help that her brother kept laughing and telling her she looked like a toad. In a nice way.

Our showstopper was Nirvana's "About a Girl" which worked really well. Possibly because for most of it there are only 2 chords.

I did a bit of messing about with riffy bits, including Smoke on the Water (obviously), Sweet Home Alabama (mmmmm) and a lot of blues stuff. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and hope we can do it again before too much longer.

Especially as they'd got chocolate fingers in specially. The biscuits, I mean.

My own (non-chocolate) fingers are really, really sore today, though. Typing is taking longer than usual as a result. Sorry. Try and read slower so you don't overtake me.

Other news: Mr WithaY and I are off to see a band* this evening. So much social activity in a week. Who says life in Wiltshire is like living in the 1930s?

Nobody. But if they did, they'd be wrong.

Also: I've got a bit of a cough.

In itself that's not big deal, but I have had several very nasty bouts of bronchitis over the last 10 years or so, so a cough now scares the bejeezus out of me.

Last time I had bronchitis I was coughing up blood and had to go and have TB x-rays (I didn't have TB, in case you were worried). Hopefully it's going to stay just a bit of a cough but I will be keeping myself well wrapped up and putting the heating on at home to be on the safe side.

Am sucking Lockets** as well. Mmmmm. Sugar.

Burn is all but healed up now, so hurrah for that.

Which reminds me. Mr WithaY told me he thinks the pic of me on here with the camera makes me look like one of the giant robots from "Laputa, Castle in the Sky". Not sure if I think that's a good thing or not.

On the one hand, resembling a huge anime robot is pretty cool.

On the other hand, husbands are generally supposed to admire beauty, charm, warmth and fragility in their wives. Not their resemblance to a huge destructive robot.

Perhaps it's the way I can level buildings simply by using the power of my eyes that does it.


*If they're any good I'll be sure to tell you

**The cough sweet, not somebody with a slighty crap nickname