I like to think I’m quite stoical about being ill, but I’m not. This virus has been an absolute bugger. Cold sweats, pain all over the body as if I had been trampled by a cross donkey, inability to function on any level. I am pale as a ghost and quite doleful. It’s been going round, apparently, which makes me feel faintly better, because at least I am not the only one. (I have a very weird secret belief that giving in to illness is a sort of failure. Oh, the mazy corridors of my foolish mind.)
My very kind friend looked after the red mare, who is happy as a bug, since she loves most of all doing absolutely nothing, and dear Stanley the Manly has lain kindly on the bed, gazing at me with his Florence Nightingale face, and not complaining that there have been no games or sticks or rabbits to chase. For such a busy dog, he can be amazingly patient and peaceful when I am immobilised.
Back to full strength on Monday. Thank you all for your very kind wishes. I’m exceptionally touched.