The dread D

Well nobody enjoys reading too many blog entries about diarrhea (at least I hope they don't) but he we go anyway.

Last Friday I fell foul of the dreaded D. It continued up until Monday night and then I spent all of Tuesday feeling that normality had been resumed. J and I celebrated with hot, solid food and I went to bed, ready for my twelve hour shift at the dayjob.

Wednesday, yesterday, should have been me celebrating my birthday by teaching a variety of interesting people (foreign language students learning English, teenagers retaking their GCSE course and a lovely evening class of dedicated adults). I envisaged getting home at ten in the evening for cake and cards and a welcoming embrace from J.

But no. First thing in the morning the dreaded D returned, I found I had dropped quite a bit of weight and a doctor's appointment was made.

So yesterday's highlights were spending the day with J and Freya, talking to friends and family on the telephone and taking a (by necessity) quick drive to near the top of the White Horse Hill to admire the view. My celebration meal was a cup of boiled water and a couple of Viennese Whirls. Sadly it seems the diary content of the Whirls did some damage and I was back up at 3:30 this morning to 'ride the porcelain Honda' as nobody ever really said in the Eighties.

The dreaded D is still with me today.

On the bright side - when I was at my lowest ebb and needed to find something to read (jolly modern novels were too annoying and chunky classics tomes too much work) I rediscovered Xavier de Maistre's 'A Journey around my Room'. Which hit the spot exactly.


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