You know when you have a week where everything falls into place: you get more full nights’ sleep than not; the laundry fates align so that every family member’s clothes are both clean and dry when they need them; delicious suppers materialise out of things you’d bought from a list, with a meal plan; your hair falls naturally into the bouncy glossy style only normally produced by your stylist and an army of blow drying assistants; trains run on time; and at work, opposing counsel lie like scattered dominoes, felled by the devastating power of your carefully worded legal arguments.
And then there are the weeks that counterbalance. The ones where a twitch of your skirt has got caught up in life’s mangle, and there’s nothing to do but ride out the storm and wait for it to spit you out sodden, snotty and slightly crushed on the other side.
Where have we been? let me give you a clue. Poor darling Kit’s cough of a week ago turned into a full blown chest infection, complete with steam-train breathing sound effects that landed us at the out of hours doctors at some tiny wee hour of a weekend morning to get mademoiselle started on antibiotics pronto. And then just as she started to perk up, H and I, exhibiting rare synchronicity on the illness front, were taken out by the same lurgy within 24 hours of each other, just in time for H to take an exam through a cold fog momentarily held at bay by just about every over-the-counter pharmaceutical on the market. My pharmacopoeia being rather limited by the nursling, I’ve made up for it by a lot of groaning.
Last Tuesday I went down with a fever and the shivers and it wasn’t until Sunday afternoon that I started to perk up, and only today that I’ve felt even vaguely human, and that’s while speaking makes me cough, and I appear to have swallowed several golf balls.
On Saturday, having run out of, well just about everything, we ran a carefully planned mission to the butchers (for pie) and then both had to have a little lie down. Seriously people, if you know me in real life and you haven’t had this horrid cold that’s doing the rounds – run and hide (and chain eat Vitamin C).
The fairies came at the weekend and did the washing up and took us for a restorative roast lunch at the Durham Ox and you never know, if you’re very lucky, there may even be some crafty making in the offing. Come on this week, you really can’t be worse than last week (and for the avoidance of doubt, that in no way shape or form resembled a challenge)!