Monday February 4, 2008
When Graham had a mild case of dicky tummy the day before yesterday, along with a general, hard-to-shift malaise, he put it down to the prawns we had in our fish pie the night before. These minor food things seldom bother me, so we made no effort to find another connection.
He’s just about over it now but, would you believe, it looks as if I have contracted the same bug. The dicky tummy phase went very quickly but now I feel generally icky, with a light chest congestion and bony joints complaining. And tired.
It’s obviously one of those small virus things, and he probably picked it up when he went to the holiday camp last week, incubated it, and then passed it on to me. I’m not coughing or sneezing so providing I don’t touch anyone I ought to be safe to go out shopping in a little while. No need to ring a little bell as I walk, and call out: “Unclean! Unclean!” Which is a relief.
Like most people we don’t make too much fuss over these minor infections. We just shrug, take an aspirin, and get on with the business of the day, moaning now and then to be sure our suffering is noticed. I don’t generally even note them in my journal unless there’s nothing else to report. There isn’t anything else to report.
“We’re very lucky,” I said. “We can just put our feet up and wait for it to go away. Other folks have to go out to work.”
“You speak for yourself,” Graham said. “I wanted to do the front garden today.”
“Sorry. It was just something to say.”
“Yeah. I know. What’s for lunch?”
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