So yesterday I discovered I had lost my voice (it came back during the afternoon so luckily I was able to fend off the usual phone calls from telemarketers and the nice guy from Fox who came calling just after 5) and did not go to work. Instead I watched Reeves and Mortimer on YouTube, The Sopranos and Deadwood series 2. I am actually not as insanely madly crazy about Deadwood as many others seem to be but Swearingen's struggle with gallstones certainly put my own sufferings into context.
So yesterday a quiet day with the dogs and tv, lots of lapsan(g?) souchon(g?) and rye bread, I figured I was over it. This morning I woke about 6.30-7 with such bronchial disorder I thought 'if this gets any worse I will have to go to hospital'. That might have been dream-waking panic, of course, and in the final analysis what I really needed to do was get up, get the paper, sit in front of the heater and drink some coffee, which does have restorative properties in case of respiratory problems.
Today we are seeing a play.
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