Toddy

In 1992, Charlie was a year old and we living in our third home in a year, having moved from Mint Street to Overtown to Underley Farm, just outside Kirkby Lonsdale. I was working freelance and on a contract in Harrogate, which required an hour's commute each way, every day, Monday to Friday.

The freelance rates weren't bad but we were still skint and I couldn't afford a day off work, so I'd rarely take any time off, even when I was under the weather. There was one occasion, though, when I had hot flushes all night and when I got out of bed in the morning, I simply fell over. That, I think, was the last time I had actual flu.

Which I appear to have now. After a very hot and bothered night - the Minx said she was kept awake by my breathing and "terrors" - I managed a FaceTime meeting with Vince, today, and that was about it, apart from a few calls and emails. I drove home in the afternoon, and was delighted to find Milly at the house (home for a reading week). 

Of course, the joy of admitting that you're actually, unarguably, properly ill is that you can start messing around with kips on the sofa and hot toddies. Hooray!

****
-16.3 kgs
0 words
Reading (reluctantly): 'Manchester Stories'