I am dying. I have something which I thought was hay fever, but may be a cold, or a chest infection, or something, but it is something that is making my throat hurt and my chest hurt and my ears hurt, and it is narsty and I am pissed off. I have a ridiculously busy week ahead of me, and there really isn’t time to be ill. I suspect it will be one of those things where I am not ill enough to abandon everything and wave a white flag of surrender, leaving others to deal with the resulting chaos. I feel it will be one of those things that means that I am capable of doing everything I need to do but more slowly, with ten times more effort and a nasty tendency to have to pull into lay-bys and weep into my handbag when things get too much.
Huzzah for me.
P.S. by three in the morning my cold will have turned into the Ebola virus at the very least. It is the way of my people.
Tallulah is home from her outward bound holiday. We picked her up yesterday afternoon, as she emerged covered in mud, smelling slightly like old tarpaulin, exhausted but extremely happy. She talked at ninety miles a minute all the way home, and then, when thrown into a hot bath, subsided into a kind of monosyllabic zombie state. She needs to sleep for about a week and all will be well. Everything came home with her, except an old coat she inherited from Tilly which we were all hoping wouldn’t make it back anyway.
I have nit combed everyone in the last day or two, due to my friend texting me to say that her sons had been blessed with the patter of tiny nit feet. She was most apologetic about it. I do not think she needs to be. It is usually me posting plague warnings. It made a refreshing change if I’m honest. Our children play together regularly and do not know the meaning of the phrase ‘personal space’. I was slightly bereft to have to get the comb out, as my children are nit magnets, and I feared the worst. Many is the long week spent by me combing and combing and itching and combing. It seems, however, that the nits have passed us by for now. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. Tears of gratitude were shed. I feel a bit like I’ve just avoided the angel of death in the story of the ten plagues of Egypt. I would not be painting lamb’s blood on my lintel. Everyone knows it’s tea tree oil for nits.
I bought a steam cleaner in the Vax sale online yesterday. Several of my friends have them, and have been raving about how versatile they are and how brilliant they are, and how easy they make cleaning. I was tempted, but not enough to spend £90 on a domestic appliance. A money off code on Money Saving Expert got me the same cleaner for £35, and I thought I’d give it a go. I cannot quite believe how excited I am that it is coming. I am quite worried about myself.
My friend and I took our children to see the musical Honk at the Curve theatre in Leicester last night. I helped out with a school trip there earlier in the week and we sat in on a technical rehearsal and Q&A with the director, which prompted us to buy the tickets. I have to confess that both of us were sceptical. Musicals do not rock our world as a rule, and this was by the young community theatre group, which made us even more troubled. We did, however, think the kids would enjoy it, and as the tickets were only £6 each it seemed churlish not to go and see it with them.
It turned out to be very good indeed. The cast were strong, and worked well together as an ensemble, the costumes were clever and brilliantly put together, the story was engaging and had some lovely nods to long suffering parents like us. On the whole we had an excellent time. I highly recommend a visit if you are local.
My knitting continues apace. I am still very much enjoying it.
So, on the whole, apart from dying and turning into some kind of weird, knitting, steam mop, musical loving freak, I am ok.
Which is nice.