Monday 6th January

I started off quite well.  I was determined to feel better, to start the recovery, to begin to shake off this awful cold.  I had slept for about nine hours, and after a shave and shower I felt slightly enervated. I was determined to start feeling better.  And feeling ill is an awful lot about succumbing to being ill, describing yourself as ill, deciding that you are now an ill person.  Whereas if you decide that the cold is just an irritation, a nuisance really, and that apart from a runny nose and a sore throat you are quite well really it can sometimes work.  But only sometimes.  Often the physical symptoms so overwhelm you that no amount of inner positivism, of telling yourself you are okay will suffice.

As the day wore on I got worse, and despite a sleep in the afternoon I woke with a high temperature and a coughing fit that I thought would never stop.

So, I am taking things easy, trying to persuade myself that actually I might be on the mend when actually I feel pretty awful.

Time for another swig of cough mixture.  Again I don’t think it really helps, but the very fact that you are taking medication of some sort does make you feel a little better.

So feeling better?  I was, then I wasn’t, and hopefully I will be again soon.