journal of a writing man

A whole lot of sleepin’ goin’ on

November 27, 2009 · 6 Comments

It’s a strange thing but here I am, sitting here shortly after midday on a perfectly ordinary Friday with the sound of a newly recovered Graham laying smoothing plaster over the living-room floor, Dolly doing mega-cat things in the kitchen, the workmen on the building project next door doing noisy builder things, and do you know what I’m doing?

Fancying a good Thanksgiving blow-out, that’s what I’m doing.  I want turkey, slow roasted, with red-currant jelly (sorry, you can keep your nasty sour cranberries), thick, rich gravy, and bread sauce the way my mother used to make it.  Potatoes, mashed, roast and sweet.  Carrot and swede mash.  Roast parsnip.  Brussels sprouts.  Cabbage greens.  And a pint of good old-fashioned Guinness to wash it down.  And several varieties of cake, pie and ice-cream to follow during a long, food-laden afternoon.

It’s not fair.  It’s not as if I’ve ever attended a Thanksgiving feast in real life;  we don’t do Thanksgiving here in the UK, though I’m beginning to think that if we can make merry with ‘Halloween’, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t import a more munchy festival.

Ah well.  I have brocolli and stilton soup for lunch, with half a very small baguette.  I shall close my eyes afterward, and think of roast turkey with all the trimmings.  Perhaps next year.

At least I shall not suffer from an over-loaded digestive system.

Back in reality, Graham has made a splendid recovery but has, typically, over-done it this morning [he won't be told] and will need a long afternoon nap.  Dolly has just finished moaning and mumbling over her lunch and will shortly be off for her long afternoon nap.

Me, I’m day-dreaming of a Thanksgiving feast, and shall probably be off myself in a little while, pursuing my own long afternoon nap.  That’s a whole lot of sleepin’ goin’ on.

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The missing breakfast cereal

November 26, 2009 · 11 Comments

When I woke this morning I walked in on Graham to find him all prostrate and feverish, just woken, and not in the best of moods.

“I think I’d better phone the ‘flu line or something,” he said.

“Right.  I’ll look out the numbers and such.”

So off I went for coffee and computer, located the info page and printed it out.  It’s a list of the symptoms and what you should do if you think you have swine ‘flu, along with a choice of two phone numbers.

“Here you go,” I said, and slipped the paper under his reading glasses.  He smiled, said thanks, nicely, and dozed off once more.

A little later he came down, fixed himself a bowl of corn flakes, and sat down with me to eat it.  “For the first time I think I’m feeling a little better,” he said.

I squinted at him, closely.  Sure enough, the colour is coming back into his face and he seems brighter over all.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me feel.  Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about calling the ‘flu people?”

“Yeah.  No point.”

“Great.  You’re probably right.  What now, then?”

“I shall go back to bed for a little while.”

“Fine.  Give me a yell when you want something.  I shall be popping out to the supermarket today now that I’m all mended.  I want to get some bland food for you and your recovery.”

“Shredded Wheat.  I need Shredded Wheat.”

“That I can do.”

It’s odd, isn’t it, how they always want the one cereal you don’t have in the cupboard?

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Pearls before piggies

November 25, 2009 · 11 Comments

My encounter with the piggy ‘flu is more or less finished.  I wake feeling throaty and tired but it’s wonderful what an encounter with strong hot coffee will do.  I am profoundly grateful for my swine ‘flu jab, and convinced that my easy escape is largely due to it.

Graham’s not doing so well.  He lays carefully in bed, trying not to move, and groaning pitifully when he does.  Liquid, a little medication, and a lot of moaning seems to be all the treatment he’s wanted up to now.  He managed a poached egg with beans on toast yesterday evening so he’ll not fade away.  I go along every half an hour to straighten the bed and ask if he wants something–if he’s awake at the time–and all his needs are taken care of, especially on the sympathy front.  I’m confidently expecting it to turn over to ‘man-flu’ sometime late this afternoon or early evening, at which the sympathy will be folded gently and stored away until the next time it’s needed.

Dolly of course, snoozes through it all.  Mega-cats do not do piggy ‘flu.

→ 11 CommentsCategories: flu · personal

Wanted, a killer line

November 24, 2009 · 10 Comments

We were just sitting down to a glass of wine before dinner yesterday evening when Graham announced that he was not feeling too good and that I’d best not give him too much to eat.  By ten, after struggling to eat a couple of mouthfuls, he was ready for bed, paracetamol, and extra rations of “oh, you poor sausage.”

He was running a mild fever, and had aches in his joints.  A minor cough, nothing special.

So I told him that if he died of swine ‘flu I’d never talk to him again and tucked him in with great care.

Middle of the night I woke to find that I wasn’t feeling too good, either.  Much the same symptoms.

So we stayed a’bed, following my oft-repeated philosophy that sleep is the best medicine.

I was up and at ‘em again by mid-day.  Graham was feeling much better but still had a lot of sleep in him to use up so I took him tea and told him to stay where he was, call me if he needs anything.  Then I tiptoed down to brew myself coffee.

I’m working on a killer line for when he wakes.

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Some like it hot

November 23, 2009 · 15 Comments

Busy day, and I’ve only just now, at 19:14, grabbed a few minutes to sit at the computer.

In Sainsbury’s, I asked:  “Do you think I’m due a small chocolate bar?  It’s been about four weeks since I last indulged…”

“Oh, go on, then.  Just for a special treat.”

Chocolate isn’t just Cadbury’s these days.  The products of world class chocolatiers are displayed on the shelves to tempt the weak willed.  So I picked up an old favourite, to remind me of a small, dark, and rather smelly little chocolate shop round the back of Les Halles in the days when all you could really smell in those little alleyways was the aroma of good onion soup and Gaulloises.

“What did you get?” Graham asked.  “You gotta be kidding.  After all these years you’ve gone curry mad!”

“Nonsense.  All the best chocolate has a little chilli in it.  This just brings the flavour a little further to the front of the stage.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

So I held on to my small 100g bar of good Swiss chilli chocolate, and intend to hog it this evening after dinner.  I shall offer him a piece of  course.

He’s right about the curry madness, though.  I picked up four rather lush vegetable samosas from the Indian counter for my lunch, and enjoyed them with a big dollop of spicy tomato chutney.  And he has the makings of a rather find beef Madras curry for another day during the week.  Thursday, probably.

Tonight is rather less oriental.  Boef bourginon.  Done the French way.

 

Better than your average chocolate

 

 

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