I should be in bed, really. The itsy bitsy cold that I have tried to shake off since we came back from our easy peasy downhill-ish cycle trip has exploded into all sorts of things, on of which is that I cannot get a decent breath when I lie down. There is an amazing quantity of yuk dripping down from the myriad caves and cavities behind my forehead and my nose and between my ears and my throat and so on - vast and deep it all is. I even scared the cat away with my sneezing and coughing. So I trudge through the house with my blankets, littering the place with clementine peel and
trying failing to solve this week's cryptic crossword from the SZ.
From time to time R comes along with thermometers and tea thick with lichen honey and gives me his serious look. In my wild days, when I rolled my own cigs and whatnot, this would have been nothing. A cracked up hoarse voice? Wow.