I’ve never been much of a monarchist, unlike the French side of the family, who are avid for any morsel of royal news and believe that because I live in the capital, I must know all the comings and goings.
But like Her Maj, I have had the most terrible Christmas cold and neither of us made it to church on Christmas day. The thing with colds is that they seem to last forever, different stages of temperature and shivering, sleepless nights and lack of appetite.
This time last year I was in intensive care (though not with a cold) and in my feverish state I kept wondering if it was working up to a repeat performance and whether I should call an ambulance before I became unconscious again. That’s the trouble with being seriously ill, the normal side dishes of colds take on a drama all of their own.
After nearly a week in bed, I finally got dressed today for the first time and a good pal came over with some supplies and great conversation. So I’m well on the mend.
Apart from the hallucinations and high fever, the telly has been not half bad, although my ongoing addiction to 24hours in A and E may soon require professional help. The only other odd thing is my cough – it’s not a human sound at all, more like a hyena barking and once it starts, has a life all of its own.