This morning it is ferociously hot and damp, steam rising from the tarmac and the fields, the sun burning off mist. I have a bad chest infection and my housemate has bronchitis. She saw the doctor yesterday and he gave her handfuls of over-priced medications that will hopefully make her better within the course of today. She has gone off to see a settlement of people ill with suspected cholera, which makes me furious and helpless because I can’t force her to stay in bed. In this house we have an informal rule that only one person can be sick at a time because the household needs to keep running. Fortunately, the dogs are both lively and curious, need no extra attention.
My Yahoo email has corrupted and I can’t access it. This is extremely worrying and I lay awake all night planning to bring down the evil Yahoo empire somehow, but it is probably something stupid I did. All of you who email me regularly, please email me at email@example.com. I will delete this address after 24 hours and hopefully will have my regular email up and working again.
The washer on the hot tap has perished and I have to crawl out of my sickbed and deal with a plumber if and when he deigns to arrive. In the meantime boiling hot water is splashing away down the plughole. I knew I should have married a man who would have done something manly about the plumbing. Or learnt how to do something womanly and effective myself.
Upsetting news. A local farmer has been killed in a stupid car accident, his own fault for overtaking on the blind corner of a mountain pass and having a head-on collision with a pentechnicon. His wife and young children are distraught. He was a kind but impatient man who liked to drive very fast in his new convertible.
As I lie in bed and drink lemon juice with honey in hot water, I am reading Geoffrey Wall’s biography of Flaubert. It is beautiufully written. The problem is that nothing much happens in a writer’s life because writers spend their days staring at empty pages and rewriting sentences over and over again. Sometimes I wish I had run away to join a circus and led an adventurous life, even though I have no sense of balance and would have ended up as an alcoholic clown or mucking out the elephants’ stalls.
Grateful to be sober and blamelessly ill.