Ready meal

The good news is that Mum is really on the mend, taking fluids and eating and getting up; that generation are a hardy lot.

Not so good news is that I seem to have caught a version of it, without the vomiting thankfully. But I have basically been asleep since Tuesday, right through the night without sleeping tablets and then most of the day. Deep sleep, with only the occasional glass of water and piece of toast. I seem to rally and wake up about six pm but only for a couple of hours before the bed calls again. And it’s a call not to be denied, not an ‘I fancy a nap’ type of call, but an ‘If I don’t lie down I shall fall down’ trumpet, followed by several hours of deep sleep.

Doc tomorrow as I don’t seem to be improving, a wonderful practice where you can get an appointment within twenty four hours.

But meanwhile, I’d run out of milk and bread, so made a sortie to the shop. Met a neighbour who asked how I was and when I told them to keep their distance because I’d been in bed most of the week, told me I was looking really well. The fact that they are still standing demonstrates my weakened state.

At the shop, I look at the veg and turn away, buy some fruit, milk and bread and just can’t face buying anything to cook. So I walk along the ready meal shelf, disregarding the sound of all my French relatives turning in their graves, and buy a couple. No one from the food police stops me at the cash desk, I take them home and put them in the fridge.

Never bought one for myself before or willingly eaten one. The fish pie tasted ok, not as good as the one I would have made.

But the slippery slope of serious illness just got a lot slipperier.

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