The last virus just won’t let go, leaving me perpetually tired and asthmatic. It’s a total pain. Customers who are at least 10 years older than me are still tripping lightly through the door and marching up the town for their shopping, full trolleys rumbling merrily behind them. I, on the other hand, have hardly left the house since the weekend and then it was to go to the garage , get into the car and drive to Tesco. In the evenings I’ve been going to sleep in front of the telly - probably the best thing to do really but deeply unsatisfying to the soul.
At least I don’t wheeze, so tight are the lungs. Wheezing exposes me to ‘helpful’ suggestions from folk who have guidance from above (airy hand-waving usually expresses where they think it comes from) and want to pass this on to any sitting duck . I hate being classed as a potentially ego-gratifying duck and can spot the likely perpetrators coming so, as recently happened at a dinner party (yes we do still do dinner parties up here) I cut them off at the pass with suitably flattening remarks like: ‘Thank you for your concern but I’ve been having this asthma since I was a year old and have learned when to fight and when to try to roll with it. I’ve spent thousands of pounds on therapies that don’t work and that’s money I wish I could get back. I don’t intend to spend any more.’
i.e. I’m not coming to you for the latest brand of hocus pocus you’ve just learned on a weekend course, nor, in the case of the last would-be saviour, am I taking your advice on homeopathics when you’ve had no training whatsoever and I haven’t been introduced to your spirit guide.. .
Sour puss that’s me.
The best laugh this week was from the three gulls I spotted doing a sort of circle dance on the greensward opposite my window. Their little legs were beating up and down as though to some pretty jazzy rhythm. Every so often they lunged forward to catch the poor worm who had peeked up to see if it was raining.
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