One step forward, one step back!

I was sure I would wake up feeling better this morning, but I didn't! I wake at 5:00 am and let Norman out for a pee in the garden, outside a gentle rain is falling and I sit in the armchair in the garden room waiting for him to come back in. After ten minutes I hear the pit-patting of his feet on the path and then let him in and close the patio doors. Every bone in my body seems to ache and there are a couple of ulcers in my mouth, one under my tongue and another on my gum. I climb back into bed and then sleep until eight. When I get up I toast the last of the French stick and then butter it and spread it with honey. I eat my breakfast in the garden room with a pot of black Italian coffee. Outside the rain has stopped but low clouds fill the sky, all this rain and the mild weather means that the grass and weeds in the three gardens I seem to be responsible for will be growing like Topsy. After breakfast I wash and dress, load Norman in the car and then collect Dolly and Teddy from Cherry. We arrive on the Westwood around a quarter to ten and make our way gingerly through the muddy woods of Newbegin Pits, at the corner I join up with Elaine Julien and her dog Milo. We walk round the common together, her face has that look of poor definition that indicates a mind in turmoil. There are no rules for being a widow, none that make any sense anyway, so I just walk with her for a while and provide company and a space for her to talk. She is an intelligent and strong woman and will find her way given time. The last thing she needs is well intentioned advice. I drop the dogs back at Cherry at eleven thirty and feel totally whacked but I need petrol for the car and bread and milk from the supermarket. I call at Morrison's and buy a bottle of red wine, some pop and mozarella balls as well, but forget the beef oxos. I fill up with diesel and then call in at Sarah's to check on the decorator's, they are painting the outside of the house first. I ask them if they need anything but they say they are fine, so I drive home. When I get in I make a pot of tea and some ham and salami sandwiches, which I eat in the garden in the sun, whilst reading my book. By two O'clock I feel exhausted and lie down on my bed and sleep until four. The catarrh seems to be drying up a little but I still feel feverish and find it difficult to breath when I lie down. When I get up there is a text from Sarah to say they have arrived safely in Portugal, that Louis loved the aeroplane and that the temperature is 37 degrees. I text back that anything over 25 is way too hot for me and then make more tea and give Norman his dinner. I still feel tired and feverish, so all I can do is wait it out and read my book, which I finish at six. I take Norman for a toilet walk down Carr Lane to the little bridge, and he duly obliges. On our way back I let him off the lead and then text my cousin Irene's husband, David, and tell him I won't make York tomorrow. Back home I put out the green bin for the dustmen in the morning and then boil up a pan of salted water to make spaghetti, setting my iPhone timer for twelve minutes. When it is ready I drain the pasta and then toss it in the pan with butter and course ground black pepper, before serving it with the sauce from the slow cooker and plenty of Parmesan. It tastes fine, the pasta al dente and only enough sauce to flavour the spaghetti, washed down with a large glass of red vin de table. I can't eat it all, my taste buds are too covered in catarrh, but Norman finishes what I leave. There is enough sauce left for cannelloni or lasagne on Saturday. I have now read up all my library books and so will call in and change them tomorrow. Hopefully I will feel stronger in the morning. If this bug hasn't cleared by Monday, I may need to see the doctor and even resort to antibiotics. At least the forecast is for fine, warm, weather.