the flu and the cold

What a week.

The weekend I get asked out for drinks by 4 friends, I am holed up at home, passed out in bed with the flu.

The week had an ominous beginning. One day after work, I got stuck in the lift in my own apartment block. The lift stopped at my level and then stopped working. I rang the alarm and no-one came to rescue me (the double glazed windows must be good here) and then I decided to call for help. The overly cheery chirpy girl at the end of the line did not inspire confidence. She assured me she would send a techie to have a look. No reassuring words or estimation of time. Only a request for my mobile number so they could call me. In a lift which had minimal reception.

With the milk curdling at my feet, the ice cream melting and the celery becoming less crisp by the minute I was getting cross. I called my flatmate in desperation and she was home! The blessed girl came out and pressed the buttom a couple of times. The lift went up and down. And down and up.

And opened.

There i was, dripping in perspiration with orange Sainsburys bags strewn in front of me, my jacket on the ground. Not a happy chappy.

Later that week, I was sitting at home after work and suddenly felt extremely tired. Went to bed and started to shiver. Then came the fever. I woke up in what seemed like 3am - and found out it was only 7pm!

I have now also caught a cold.

I just loooove the cold weather. And the incubation tubes hereafter known as the London Underground. Where is my mum's chicken soup when you need it?

Yes. I am a glutton for sympathy.