Day forty-one – Poor me

The cold I thought was coming on full steam a month ago finally appeared without warning yesterday. Sneezing, streaming nose, oh, poor me. Here comes a long moan.

I don’t think I have ever – since I left home and my mother’s tender care – had anyone around to provide chicken soup and sympathy when I’ve been sick. I don’t just mean now, when I’m living on my own. I mean ever. I don’t get sick often, but when I do inevitably the people I’ve provided with tea and sympathy have never been around.

I only remember getting sick once in my twenties when I shared the flat in Finchley Road. Maureen was away on holiday at the time. Or was it Giles? Anyway, no soup and sympathy.

I remember getting sick a couple of times when I was living with Mike. He was always away at the time, either a conference or visiting his parents.

I remember getting sick at least twice when I was sharing the Walthamstow house with Ben. On both occasions Ben was out of town, either on holiday or covering the races.

The annoying thing is that I had always been around to provide soup and sympathy for these people. Oh, yes, regular Florence Nightingale, me.

Poor me.

Well, no one is away today. It’s just me, my nose rubbed red from blowing it, feeling pretty sorry for myself.

On Tuesday I wrote a To Do List of things I need to do before my friend Tony arrives for Christmas. The list was going pretty well. Can’t see much happening today. Well, maybe I can get those Christmas cards written. That doesn’t require a lot of energy. Will try not to sneeze on the envelopes and infect anyone else.

Poor me.