I recently read Sue Townsend's book about the woman who gave up and went to bed for a year and we've all felt like that but it took a woman of her calibre to write about it so compellingly. I didn't want to go to bed. Life is quite exciting at the moment and I want to get out there and make waves. I am busy rewriting my novel, worrying and working and beavering there. I was away for a couple of days with my lovely daughter and she said,
'Why don't you come for Easter?'
Well, I had planned to work over the Easter weekend. It's not that I deserve a halo, it's just that bank holidays are one of my pet hates, having lived alone for so long it's boring at bank holidays and things were too frozen to go to my lovely caravan which saves me from such things. I also had my book on my conscience so I did try hard not to go to Cheshire. But in the end my daughter persuaded me by means of the kind of blackmail which included huge amounts of wonderful food, including roast lamb which is my favourite and visions of outings to places like The Chesire Smokehouse which is a lovely very posh little place - well, they are all posh in Cheshire but this is food par excellence or whatever you call it. We could go for walks at Dunham Massey and take photographs of the deer and I could have the lovely little bedroom in her gorgeous tiny house and - you get the picture.
Well, I didn't feel too hot on the Friday but on the Saturday I really wasn't very well. I had to go and give a presentation to the music society I belong to and I managed that but by Saturday night I knew I had cold but I didn't want to disappoint my kid so I duly got up on Sunday morning and drove to Cheshire. It was a lovely day.
I did get through most of the afternoon and then collapsed into bed, more or less and stayed there beyond three very small and unsuccessful outings during the next week.
Going downstairs was a huge adventure. Getting in the car made me feel sick because my ears were blocked up. I was wheezing and coughing in equal measure.
My daughter is the kind of woman who makes things. She made breakfast buns, and soup and dinners. I lay in bed and went on to Facebook and Twitter through my Kindle, read Kate Atkinson ( brilliant book, a mix of Downton Abbey and Sliding Doors only better ) and then downloaded Comfort Reads, Ian Rankin. Thank God.
I finally decided I could get in the car and drive home on Saturday and the roads were empty, the sun was shining and I fell into my door four hours later. Since then I have been out only for necessities and am still coughing and blowing my nose.
Apparently half the area has this stupid bug. I only wish they had a lovely place like Cheshire to be ill. If I had been here in Durham alone I would have been a shadow of my former self by now, not being able to make a cup of tea or venture downstairs into the unknown for several days.
And as Edina said on Absolutely Fabulous, well she didn't quite say this but here goes 'If your children can't make you breakfast buns then what is the point in having them?'