Welcome to my perfumed garden

The ever-delightful snycock left on the 7.15 for Manchester Airport and her plane home. We just got back from waving off mab_browne  and cross_stitchery  on their way (first class! The decadent young monkeys) to York. We've had a splendid couple of days together. Because of the lurgi, no one was really up to much so we've mostly lolled around and watched a variety of quality DVDs; Cruise of the Gods (again *g*), DUG, SST2, a whole load of TS and TS-related stuff like the cascade con discs, Action, even an episode of Robin Hood from 1975 with David Dixon camping it up outrageously as Prince John for Paul Darrow's Sheriff of Nottingham. Last night I introduced them to the joys of QI and the Jonathan Ross show. :o)

mab_browne  and snycock went out fully intending to walk on the moors yesterday but were driven home by the weather. Cold and wet is truly our world and t'moors are no place for those with a lurgi.

Now they've gone on their way. My house is an empty shell. My gosh, it's quiet in here. *g*

I've just had a tidy, thrown the towels in the washing machine, hurled some parsnips and celery into the stove in the hope of soothing soup later and now Mark and I are lying on the bed, completely wasted, for yea, verily, we are both still decidedly poorly. Neither of us have had much sleep because of the incessant cough. mab_browne 's not too bad (though she has the cough), snycock 's still coughing too and poor cross_stitchery  is far from well.

What a group we've made for the last few days *g*. I hope all the other lurgi-struck fangirls are still amongst the living.

But I'm crashing out now. I may be gone some time...

Very.

I'll spare you the symptoms, they ain't pretty - but I honestly can't ever remember feeling so bad before in all my life.

I hope everyone is OK? Hope I didn't pass it on to anyone else.

I'm in bed (where I've been since Monday afternoon), waiting for the doc to call. I've been messing with my pictures from Saturday but it's hurting my head a little. I'll post them as soon as I can find the strength. Assuming I'm spared. ::sigh::

ETA: The doc has been, it's a virus; fluids, paracetamol yadda yadda yadda. I have a prescription for the nausea but it's just a matter of waiting it out. 7 to 10 days. Bugger.

Where I spent a most pleasant long weekend at fluterbev 's from whence we all drove down to Liverpool to get picked up by drunken Irishmen have dinner with Garett.

I can't say more right now as I'm feeling very poorly sick and about to get into bed, but words and pictures should be forthcoming just as soon as I can raise the energy.

In the meantime, fluterbev ,  fingers and I have committed fic. Jim has Flu. Only Blair can heal him.

I've hardly slept all night - or, indeed the last several night actually despite the unaccustomed frantic activity. The house is still decidedly tip-py with two whole rooms inaccessible from piles of books/dvds/albums/pictures/rugs/furniture and etc. etc. I'm leaving for fluterbev 's at a quarter to three and I'm still sitting here, drinking coffee and more-or-less staring at the wall.

::is completely, utterly, wholly and completely shagged::

I really should get off my arse and do something. So very much to do. I should move myself, shouldn't I?

::stays glued to chair::

In housely-news, the new back door is draft-tight and water-tight and thoroughly practical and totally doing its job and looks like a coffin lid. I miss my old door with a Heathcliffe-like passion but it had to go - the guy was, quite literally, able to rip it off the wall with his bare hands - and Mr Chorley-Double-Glazing-Guy is no beefcake, but a silver-haired, ruddy-faced man in his sixties with a bit of a paunch. It was full of holes and rotten through and through - a child of four could've put a fist through it. I still miss it though.::sigh::

Anyway. The sun is out! O:! Maybe because Garett has arrived on our rain-swept shores? maybe the sun really does shine...? But no. Best not go there....

The terrible John-Stalker-like glare of the sun means I'm a prisoner in my own home even with the blind down I can't see a thing I'm typing. I might as well press on with that long, long list of stuff that needs must be done. I wish I had the energy to express some Bev-visit/Garett-mania squee but I'm sure it'll be there when it's needed.

::is very tired. Is old and on last legs. Has a cold-sore the size of Battersea Power Station. Needs more coffee::

I'm rambling, aren't I?