Update: COVID

 Remember when I said that we hadn't had COVID? 

Aah, good times.

This week we have both been hit HARD by the plague, and as a result have spent the last few days coughing, sneezing, groaning and (in my case) complaining that we can't taste or smell anything.

Fuck's sake.

I went into work on Monday, did a bit of useful stuff and then asked if it would be ok to go home early to finish a 700-page proof of Ordinary Monsters, which I wanted to return to the office before my last day on Thursday. Plus I felt a bit rubbish - sore throat, more of a cough than usual.

Tuesday morning I felt slightly worse, but well enough to read my book. But by about 3pm on Tuesday I felt AWFUL. Took a LFT and there was a veeeeeery faint second line.  Then came incredible chills and shivers, to the extent that I took to my bed before teatime, and did not emerge for another 14 hours.

Wednesday saw Mr WithaY announcing that he too now felt dreadful, and he took an LFT which popped up with a massive immediate POSITIVE result. Yay.  Interestingly, the phone app has told him to isolate for 6 days, but told me I had to isolate for 9. 

I did another lateral flow test on Thursday - couldn't have been more positive. Huge dark purple PLAGUE line flashed up immediately, none of this hanging about for 30 minutes nonsense.

Sent off for a PCR test, and had the result back in less than 24 hours, telling me that yes, I did indeed have COVID-19. 

Finally.  No more pandemic-FOMO for me.

So I missed my last day in the office, which made me very sad; it's been lovely working there, and I loved the team, as well as actively enjoying the work. Oh, and I won't be able to help out my lovely mate Jo with some cookery shenanigans next week. 

I know that compared to so many other people's terrible losses, that's very small beans, but I'm still disappointed. 

Today I left the house for the first time since last Monday (other than going out into the garden to look at the snow, the tulips, the pond or the stars) and went around the block with Mr WithaY and the dog. And, boyo, was I tired afterwards? Yes. Yes,  I was very tired.

Speaking of the pond, remember all the anti-heron precautions we took to stop any more of our beautiful Koi carp being stolen away by big flappy bastards?

We might as well have saved our money, time and effort, because whilst we succeeded in preventing the herons ravening through the group, we had not considered otters.

Fucking otters.

We realised that we hadn't seen much of the fish for a day or two, and went out to check on them. What we found was a scene of desolation and carnage - rocks and plants scattered, the underwater lights all knocked out of whack, and two sad little sets of crunched-up Koi scales on the lawn. And eyes.  Apparently otters leave the eyes.

No more fish for the WithaY pond, we decided. We're encouraging other sorts of wildlife to visit, as we already seem to have herons and otters. 

There was frogspawn last Spring, kindly donated from our next-door-neighbour's pond, which duly transformed into teeny frogs, all of which immediately buggered off into the long grass, never to be seen again. They probably headed straight back to their home pond next door. 

There have also been a few dragonflies, or possibly damsel flies. Water boatmen, snails and many types of bee, hoverfly and (bastard) wasps, all loving the waterfall. Oh, and the local pigeons have decided to use the pond as their preferred bathing spot - it is highly comical watching them flopping heavily into the water and having a good wash, before creaking up onto the nearby trees to dry off.

I'm hoping we've seen the last of the snow, as my tulips are flowering and I don't want them crushed by the weather.

I don't want any of us to be crushed by the weather.

Cursed

Things are not good at the WithaY house right now.  Mr WithaY has succumbed to a really unpleasant sinus infection, AND conjunctivitis in both eyes.  He has spent much of the last four days blinking painfully through a haze of eye-goop at me, his eyes red and sore and scarily like an old-fashioned vampire's.  A vampire with a Y in his name.  A vampyre, in fact.

We were supposed to go and see Omid Djalili at Salisbury City Hall last week, but by that mid-morning it was clear that Mr WithaY was in too miserable a state.  Plus he wouldn't have been able to see the stage  with his scary red goopy eyes.  We were able to pass the tickets to a friend of a friend who apparently enjoyed the show, so they weren't wasted, but it was a disappointment.

I think this is a continuation of the cold he went down with on Boxing Day.  It never seemed to clear up properly and has recently decided to migrate into his sinuses and torment him for a few more weeks with a charming mixture of vile-tasting snot, eye-ooze and violent spasmodic coughing.

Mother in Law WithaY came to stay for a few days, which had been long-anticipated and looked-forward-to, but a combination of the vile weather and Mr WithaY feeling terrible meant that we weren't able to do some of the things we had sort-of planned.  Mother in Law WithaY lives in the South of France, quite near the coast, but also handily near the mountains, and she is used to warm Mediterranean weather, interspersed with the howling wind known as the Tramunta, which blows for either 1, 3 or 9 days at a time.

Arriving in England in the coldest month of the year - we had snow, even - was therefore a bit of a culture shock.  She rang to let us know she's arrived home safe and sound at the weekend.  Apparently there was snow and a 95mph wind blowing, so perhaps the English weather had decided to go on holiday to Catalonia.

The region she lives in is full of teeny little mountain villages, usually surmounted by a huge fuck-off Cathar castle, like this one at Castelnou.  We climbed up to the top once, and were able to look down at the birds lazily circling on the warm updrafts in the valleys waaaaaay below us.

They have a cheerily cavalier attitude to health and safety at their old castles, the French, or possibly just the Catalan French, at least.  It's as if they are saying "If you're stupid enough to go and peer over the edge of that friable, windswept thousand-foot high precipice, don't blame us if you are never seen again, Monsieur."

I like to imagine a local police detective viewing the shattered remains of  yet another photo-opportunity-seeking tourist at the bottom of a deep wooded valley with a Gallic shrug and a resigned sigh.

But I digress.

The reason I think things are bad* for us right now is that we are cursed.  CURSED.

Last week, in a fit of enthusiasm and feverish tidying (mother in law coming to visit and all that) I was emptying out some of the many boxes and bags of sewing ephemera which we cleared out of Father in Law WithaY's house, and which I couldn't bear to see tossed into a skip, as threatened by the house clearance people.   I found many, many mother-of-pearl buttons, which I will be able to use,  also spools of thread, some of them still in their original cellophane wrappers, a giant tangle of embroidery silks which were beyond any sorting, and several reels of perished elastic.

We also found this:

Tucked in the bottom of a box of buttons, broken thimbles and rusty needles, I found what looks like a teeny little Hand of Glory.

It really is teeny.  Look:

That coin beside it is an old pre-decimal sixpence, dated (as you can see) 1958.  It too was in the box.  A sixpence is about the same size as a modern 5p piece, maybe a bit smaller.

So.

What did we find?  Any clues?  Is it something we ought to seek advice from the Bishop of Bath and Wells about having removed from our home?   Will a delegation of hobbits and a dodgy Wizard rock up at the front door and tell me I have to carry it to Mount Doom to destroy it? Or what?





*"Bad" in this context means "one of us suffering a distressing but entirely curable ailment which with any luck will have cleared up by next weekend."

Still got the blue(bell)s

We went for a walk in the woods the other week.  The woods by which I live.  The bluebells were out, and it was gorgeous.  In the absence of anything thrilling to tell you, here are some pictures:

I made a mental note of where the huge logpile was for possible Winter firewood foraging raids*.

We went with some friends and their charming dog.

There are little tiny white wood anemones mixed in with the bluebells, very pretty. 

Beech trees in Spring leaf.  I love that colour green. 

We saw a tree with a woodpecker's hole.

I do love how the colour of bluebells changes from the single flower, where it looks quite dark, to the huge swathe, where it is much paler.  Why is that?

It was all very pretty, and once again made me profoundly glad that I live here. 

Other news:  I've been really poorly with a hideous stomach bug for the best part of a week.  It laid me low for 48 hours, seemed to go away, then came back with a vengeance again for another 48 hours.  Today is the first day in several that I feel like myself again.

Yesterday - our wedding anniversary as it happens, 17 years, not that I'm counting or anything - I spent almost the entire day either laying on the bed with a fleecy blanket over me, sipping water and feeling dreadful, or curled up under the duvet, glaring at Grand Designs on TV with one squinty, tired, red eye. 

So yeah, that was all a bit pants.  On  the bright side, Mr WithaY gave me the most beautiful bouquet of flowers** which was a lovely surprise. 

Also, I made a few enquiries about selling my Rickenbacker.  I seldom play it, and I was sat here the other day thinking "I need more room in here to do my sewing.  There are just too many guitars, dammit." 

From there it was a short step to ringing a well-known guitar emporium and asking how much a second-hand Rickenbacker 620 12-string would go for.

Well.

If you look at the Rickenbacker website, there are no prices listed, as they have a mega waiting list for their guitars.  Anything up to (and beyond) 2 years is not uncommon.  If you order a guitar from them, you pay them what the price is WHEN IT IS DELIVERED, not when you order it.  So in 2 years it could have gone up a fair bit.

If you look on eBay, the average asking price for a guitar the same as mine is about £1500. 

If you look at guitar shop websites, expect to pay anything from £1450 to £1750.

So imagine my chagrin when I was told that the retail price for a Rickenbacker 620 12-string is "about £900.  So we'd offer you about £600 for it."

Their reasoning for this very low offer is that "the demand for Rickenbackers has dropped way down because of the waiting time."

Really.

I think I'll hang onto it for now, thanks.


Anyway, to end on a cheerful Spring note, here is some May in flower.  The hedges round here are full of it.

*If I actually tried thieving any of the Longleat Estate's wood, I reckon I'd be thrown to the lions. 

**For our anniversary, not because I had a hideous stomach bug.  He tends not to celebrate outbreaks of the shits.

Involuntary detox

Why thank you, yes, I have lost weight. 

How?

By following my very own weight loss plan.  It goes thus:

Days 1 - 31    Acquire (and hang onto - this is important) a severe chest infection.  This will start you off properly by helping you to lose your appetite and begin toning up all the muscles in your upper body as you cough for hours on end.  Make sure you have at least two courses of antibiotics during this premiminary period.

Days 32 -35   Pick up a bout of post-antibiotic gastroenteritis.  Spend 72 hours in bed, shivering, vomiting with terrifying suddenness and running (carefully) to the toilet.  Eat nothing but one banana and a bowl of plain rice (on Day 35) during this period.  Make sure you drink lots of water to make all those trips to the toilet worthwhile, though.

Day 36   Weigh yourself and go "Hmmmm.....lost a stone."

I might write a book.  It's clearly a very successful method.

I can almost see my cheekbones again.  Almost.

Hack, revisited

I'm ill.  Very, very ill*.  So ill, I might even up and die**. 

Must be nearly Christmas.  How do I know?

It's because I have my annual chest infection.  Hurrah for the good old seasonal traditions. 

It started last Wednesday, made itself properly felt on Thursday, and has me coughing like a wiry old docker with a 60-a-day habit.  Knowing from bitter experience that the only thing to shift a chest infection for me is a course of terrifyingly powerful antibiotics, I made an emergency appointment with a doctor for Saturday morning.  He listened to my chest, looked down my throat and up my nose, said lots of sympathetic and encouraging things, then prescribed me a week's worth of erythromycin.

I looked up the list of possible side effects, and rather wish I hadn't now.    One of them is "temporary deafeness." 

I said "TEMPORARY DEAFNESS."

So, my chest hurts where my "big tubes" are infected.  My lungs hurt.  My back muscles are sore from coughing.  My head aches from a mixture of the deep, echoey coughs and the lack of sleep.  My throat is sore from barking like a seal.  My stomach is decidedly dodgy from the antibiotics.  Not deaf yet though. 

We had a long-planned dinner party last night.  Mr WithaY and I had been preparing for it for several days.  The food looked lovely.  The wines were well-chosen.  I'd even made a chocolate bread and butter pudding.  Delicious. 

Our mates arrived and a good time was in full swing.  I made it through the starter and half of the main course before feeling so awful*** that I had to take myself off to bed.  Half past nine on a Saturday night.  Ever the perfect hostess, me.

Gah.

I have to go into London tomorrow for a meeting, because it is one that I have already postphoned once, and really can't again.  I will go in late, come home early and hope that I don't distress too many people with my hideous, racking cough while I'm there. 



*Not that ill, truth be told, really.

**No I won't. 

***Really, really sick.  Another delightful side effect of the antibiotics.

Cold

As is traditional with a holiday coming up, I have gone down with a cold. Arse*. I woke up on Tuesday with a really sore throat, but put it down to my extensive muttering about protestors making me miss my train.

Yesterday I felt tired and chilly, but assumed I was just well, tired and chilly.

Today, however, I have a proper cold. Headache, shivery, sore throat, slightly snotty in a kind of "Oh you just wait till you try to go to sleep" kind of way.

And I still only have half a mobile. I can receive text messages but for some reason am unable to make or receive phone calls. I shall have to call the helpdesk tomorrow if it doesn't resolve itself overnight.





*Not a cold arse. I have one of those too, being a girly, but a cold. Arse.

Grumpy

Well, I have had a rubbishy couple of days, feeling sorry for myself with a nasty stomach upset. Couldn't have gone down with it last week, when I couldn't get to work anyway. Oh no, had to wait till this week when I was supposed to be in London doing lots of meetings.

I think I am over the worst of it but the last thing I want is to be on a train for 2 hours and suddenly realise that in fact, no, I am not over it at all.

Gah.

And it was pissing down with rain all yesterday. The snow shark is still there, but looking a bit sad and misshapen now.

But, today the sun is out. Hurrah. I feel less crap than I did, and things are looking up.

Not tired of life yet

It's been sunny here for two days in a row. That's more than the weather managed all bloody summer I think.

Was in London on Thursday, when it was NOT sunny. No, it rained. All day, as far as I could tell, and in Biblical proportion. I walked from Victoria station to my office, where I saw a man with extremely elegant shoes completely fail to spot the huge, wide, deep puddle, and wade right through it. He seemed to be occupied with his phone or his iPod or some such toy, and wasn't looking where he was going. So it was kind of self-inflicted. He went the rest of the way doing that one-foot-shake walk. Heh.

I took the lovely Z's advice and checked out the list of Tube stations it is quicker to walk between. Waterloo and Embankment, apparently. I decided to test this, and on the way home I got off the Tube at Embankment, then walked across the river to Waterloo.

Not only did it take if not quite less time, then certainly not much more, it was a nice little bit of exercise (those stairs up onto the bridge!) and it was lovely seeing the city all lit up. I will take my camera and do some pictures next week if I remember.

There was a Christmas fair going on along the South Bank, with stands selling German Food (and why is everything German so much more Christmassy? Answers please) and various other attractions. I didn't stand and look properly as I was in a bit of a hurry to get my train. The South American band who busk under the bridge were playing Christmas songs, rather than the music of the ancient Aztecs, which was lovely to walk along listening to.

I was on the train with a few minutes to spare, so I shall be doing that again. It was less stressful (no worrying about when the next train was turning up), it was lovely to be out in the evening air, and I felt like I stretched my legs a bit after a long day at my desk.

I had considered going out at lunchtime to the big Marks and Spencer close to the office, it being sale day and all, but decided against it. Every time I went to look at it out of the window it was buzzing like a kicked anthill.

In the afternoon I had a meeting on the 8th floor, and gawped out of the window on the landing afterwards. We overlook Buckingham Palace. How chic. Didn't see any members of the Royal household gawping back, twitching the diamond-encrusted net curtains and tutting about the nosy neighbours.

I'm really enjoying London. I daresay the honeymoon will wear off eventually but right now every time I go up to the office it feels like a bit of an adventure. It helps that I am getting to grips with the job too.

Remember I was banging on about people eating delicious-smelling food on trains, and how it ought to be a capital offence? Yeah you do.

Well, there was a chap the other day who topped that particular piece of travel misbehaviour. He was on his mobile to his (presumably) wife, ordering what sounded like a fantastic Indian takeaway, detailing the types of meat dishes, rice, breads, sundries and side dishes. "I'll meet you at the station in 40 minutes, please pick it up on the way to there darling."

Bastard.

I think everyone within earshot's stomach was rumbling as he reeled off the menu. "Yes, the lamb samosa...with chutney. And a chicken biriyani...yes, with the vegetable curry. And a keema naan. Or, no, make that a Peshwari naan. In fact, get both." And on and on it went.

I sat there, wishing I had had the foresight to bring my dull, sad, dry cereal bar with me, instead of leaving it in my desk drawer.

On the bright side, I have lost some weight since starting the new job. Yay me.

Other news: Mr WithaY is finally getting over a heavy cold. I think it is the same cold he had last week, and it never really went away. He spent 3 days this week either in bed or sitting listlessly on the sofa, wrapped in many heavy layers. He is on the mend though, and hopefully has had his share of bugs for the Winter.

I have been offering tea and sympathy from a distance.

Ho ho ho

I have been out and about in the big city. And it was really rather nice.

Went up to London as usual on Monday morning, had a successful day at work (yay me), then met my mate Tall Richard outside his office for an evening of middle-aged frolicking.

I took the Tube to Embankment, planning to walk over to his office in about 2 minutes from there. As is traditional, I managed to go in completely the wrong direction on leaving the station, wandering up past Charing Cross into the Strand. I navigated by the stars* till I found Downing Street, then made my way to the appointed rendezvous, still slightly early. So no-one need ever know.

We strolled back the way I had just come (making me feel knowledgable and not too touristy) to Champagne Charlie's, where I had a couple of glasses of fizz. I very seldom drink during the week, so it felt like a real treat. Tall Richard had Beer In A Tankard, but disappointingly, he drank it nicely, refusing to quaff it properly.

We both managed to get covered in sawdust (it's all over the floor in there...I may suggest they add glitter for the festive season), then wandered across the road to an Italian restaurant where we had a very nice meal. Tall Richard, having lived in Naples, is unabashed about asking Italian restaurant staff for free liqueurs. Which they gave us with a smile.

We then took the Tube all over London, as there is no interchange at (I think) Embankment, so we had to go up and down several different lines till we were on the right one to get us to the Docklands Light Railway, and out to Shadwell, where Tall Richard lives during the week.

I honestly think it would have been quicker to walk all the way. We went up and down stairs, along endless tunnels, through stations full of commuters, into little secret doorways to vast empty chambers, along platforms, up and down escalators, finally finding a train to take us where we needed to be.

Anyway. We finally arrived at his little flat (which reminded me very much of being a student), had a nice cup of tea and a chat, then fell asleep to the relaxing sound of every police siren in London being let off outside the windows.

As Tall Richard and family live in the wilds of Suffolk, Mr WithaY and I don't see them nearly as much as we'd like, so it was lovely to have a chance to catch up in the middle, so to speak. Apparently next time I have to wear sturdy walking shoes and be prepared for Chinatown and a Blues Bar.

The trip into work the next morning seemed much less complicated, and I was at my desk by 0815, giving me the chance to be first in, and therefore smug as everyone else arrived.

Arrived home last night to find Mr WithaY suffering from a streaming cold, poor bugger. I think it's the same cold he had last week, and it never really went away properly. I am keeping my distance, whilst providing love and support. And cups of tea.

Other news: Who saw this? I wish I'd thought of it first. I could have borrowed all the dogs in the village and made up a husky team, stapled antlers to the bigger ones and called them Reindeer, and got Mr WithaY into a Santa suit.

We could have borrowed one of the farm fields and roped off a bit in the middle for the festive grotto (no photography) and sprayed the whole place with fire extinguisher foam to make it look nice and snowy. Could have paid for a fantastic holiday in the sun.

Next year.





*followed my nose

Bites

It sounds like the end of the world outside. Rain lashing against the windows, high winds, mysterious crashing noises from the garden, the wailing of the damned. Brrrrr.

And, just to make my day perfect, I have a cold. Bloody great. Was just about recovered from the bronchitis (bar the occasional lung-busting coughing fit) and now I am the vile Queen of the Snot People. Lovely.

Ah well, I can drag my weary carcass to London tomorrow and make everyone feel uneasy as I sniffle my way through the day. It's good to have plans.

Mr WithaY's kind mate who brought him home from Heathrow came round for lunch today, and showed us the rather fab DVD he is making with all the podcasts from the shark-tagging trip. I had assumed that they did all the tagging from inside a cage under the water.

No no no.

They were in a very small inflatable boat, jabbing at the sharks from above, as other members of the team dangled revolting bits of dead fish in the water, jerking them away from the shark just as it thought it was getting a nice mouthful. They have photos of one of these small boats with a huge hole bitten in the side, after one of the Great White Sharks decided she had had enough of this treatment. Gah.

I'm very glad I had no idea that was all going on.

So. Time for a bite (heh) of supper and then an early night, and then tomorrow a long day up to the Smoke. But Mr WithaY is home, so at least I won't be coming home to a cold*, dark, empty house, to eat my meagre supper of bread and scrape** and cry myself to sleep***.


*Well, warm, but you know, dramtic license
**Fresh pasta and ice cream, but not in the same bowl
***Watch Futurama DVDs and then have a nice bath

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

Black Dog

Apart from spending much of Friday night, Saturday night and early Sunday morning having a hideous stomach upset, things have been quiet. Just as well, really, all thing considered.

I still feel shaky and sore, but that might be because I haven't eaten much over the last 48 hours.

Well, apart from the large Moroccan meal we had on Saturday night when our mates came over for dinner. They brought their lovely dog, who was perfectly behaved and a delight to have in the house.

She (the dog) spent the evening lying on the sitting room carpet in front of the fire, wagging her tail and rolling over to have her tummy rubbed.

I think I might try that myself.

Other news: Tomorrow will be interesting, my boss is back from her holiday and will find out that I have accepted that other job. A mate told me today that the commute will either get me really fit or kill me. I hope it's the "fit" option.

Butterflies

I've accepted that job. I negotiated a flexible working deal and a pay rise to cover the cost of a commute into London, so I will take the post.

Bloody hell it's scary. I've been in the same area of business for 20 years, come November, so this is a huge leap into the unknown.

Working in London is going to be interesting. I've never done it before for more than a couple of weeks at a time, so it will take a bit of getting used to.

Other news: I have picked up a horrible stomach bug. Bleugh.