Drinking

The malaise that has been creeping up on me struck with a vengeance at the tail end of yesterday (which was backblipped earlier this afternoon). Last night was one of those nights that seems to last forever - and not in a good way - waking every 15 minutes with a splitting pain in my head just longing for it to be morning. Somehow I didn't have the sense to just go downstairs and read and instead lay there feeling more and more sorry for myself.

Until about 6.30 when Conor announced he was going to be sick (very politely, knocking on the door first and everything) so then I just felt sorry for him instead. As is often the way, I then managed to sleep very deeply until about 11. And as is often the way with me, once I'm out of the 'oh, I'm going to get a cold' and into the 'oh I have a cold' phase, I feel much better. So after a shower, toast and tea I had a lovely 30 minutes crawling around in the garden after beetles, bugs and butterflies. These tiny orange butterflies were the most compliant in posing terms - the bees, for example, were far too busy.

Conor has had a sofa day, looking very miserable and never moving far from a bowl to throw up into (which he just made use of again in between me typing 'throw' and 'up'). Hopefully this won't be his usual five day illness, as he has mostly been able to keep water down today - and even a respectable number of chocolate biscuits.

Now, am I well enough for riding tomorrow?