Time for breakfast

Sunday November 26, 2006

Well, my brain is working again. That’s a relief, anyway. When your mind goes walkies it’s reassuring to find it’s come home again, all wag-tailed and ready for fun. The body’s lally-gagging still, I’m afraid. No specific aches or pains, and only two or three coughing sessions a day, but all it seems to want to do is sleep.

“So, what’s the problem?” Graham asked as I announced my need to go back to bed mid-morning.

“There isn’t one, really, except for the feeling I ought to be up and doing stuff.”

“Stuff like what?”

“Oh, you know. Stuff.”

“If you can’t name it you don’t need it. Go and have a snooze, for goodness sake. You’re making the place look untidy.”

Don’t you just hate it when someone else is right over these matters?

I took myself back to bed, grumbling only a little, and woke feeling a little closer to normal. Each time I wake I do feel a little bit better, and that’s another relief. I don’t think I’d take too kindly to the life of the invalid. Not old enough for that just yet.

With our clocks all knocked sideways by my repeated naps we decided to treat our late lunch as something more like a high tea, skip dinner, and have a light supper after sitting down to watch Torchwood together for the first time. I’ve been recording the show so’s Graham could catch up, and now we’re back in sync.

“I’m not sure they got that one right,” I said as I slipped a couple of nice boneless fillets of plaice into the pan to poach in a light white sauce.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, the girl playing the baddie was simply too nice to be a ravenous space monster.”

“That’s probably what they thought. Going for the shock factor.”

“Missed it by a mile so far as I’m concerned.”

“What are we having with that fish?”

“Little bit of broccoli and cauliflower and a couple of small spuds.”

“Good. Hurry up, then or it’ll be time for breakfast.”

 

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