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No Time To Be Ill

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One thing for sure about being ill, you have time to think! Not that I am a great thinker -- I go straight in feet first and no thought about anything, always willing to volunteer my services whatever the project.

I couldn't find anything remotely humorous lying in bed staring at the ceiling and counting the flaws in the plaster except perhaps the cough which produced nothing but a gurgling rattle and then a blast of wind at the other end, at least something was moving. I couldn't just lie there, but I simply had no choice.

My daughter piled up the magazines, what seemed like good stories to her were nothing short of crazy to me. Long gone are the days when I thought pop stars were the most important people on earth with their vital statistics listed in a paragraph below. Truth is I felt a bit vain, my vital statistics read in comparison giving them a run for their money at 46. Huh! I wonder if they'll have a figure like me then eh! Shame on myself for being so awful but I guess that's what it comes down to when you're sick -- anything to make you feel better.

At least I've had a short break from being concierge to my family. Their patience finally ran out and I found myself climbing out of bed for company. I could have died up there and rigamortis set in before they'd come upstairs and offer me a drink. What's that saying -- Out of sight, out of mind --- Yep! I put that one to the test. I was of course met with, "Oh there you are dear, come and sit beside the fire -- what's for dinner?" I scorned with the look that my daughter knows only too well and my Hubby quickly corrected his greeting. "I mean I'll make it, you just relax"

Well the relaxation lasted a grand total of 20 minutes when I heard my kitchen being destroyed, pots pans and lot's of little swear words all coming from my domain. The freezer was bleeping because of the amount of time he'd been scurrying around looking for frozen peas and then he was slamming the worktop with a couple of chops which were stuck together. In the end and after the worst abuse he could inflict, I heard the fish fingers land on the table along with frozen fries. My daughter groaned and whispered "Fish fingers....again"

I was tempted -- very tempted to just throw him out of the kitchen and start afresh but, no, I was ill and I'm staying right beside the fire. Once I enter the kitchen with any sort of input, he'll be off like a shot and in front of the football on TV and yesterday it was an all day affair. He was like a cuckoo jumping in and out of a cuckoo clock each time the crowd cheered with a frantic look on his face, "Have they scored?" By the time the match was over the hinges on the door needed oil and my hubby plasters with all the cuts he'd encountered not from the food but from ripping the door open too many times. What is it with men and football?

It hasn't taken long for me to return to my old ways -- the house simply does not run. I'm back with a vengeance and in my routine. I don't have time to be ill it's just an inconvenience. Still, I've weathered the storm and as I pour out my last dose of antibiotic -- Thank goodness for perseverance I say?

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