These 24-hour illnesses are something, aren’t they? Sick as a parrot one day, right as rain the next.

Monday evening I was feeling off-colour (like the Monty Python Norwegian Blue, my plumage was drooping); left half my supper; went to bed early. By the small hours of Tuesday I had a famous case of diarrhea and before the dawn bugle I was, in Rob’s sympathetic phrase, ‘projectile-vomiting’ – a gut-wrenching, mind-numbing reminder of mortality. Now I know what my grandfather felt like in the trenches, waiting to go over the top.

Tuesday was not the most productive of days. I managed one (very valuable) telephonic interview; slept; and by late afternoon was able to edit a few pages of my last big report of the year. By evening I was feeling better but still, you might say, somewhat drained….

But this morning I am right as rain – bouncing like Tigger, brand new, good to go.

Rob says she has just under three weeks left, under the guarantee, to return me to the shop and demand a replacement. She better move quickly, that girl.

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