I am struck down with the flu.
This would be bad enough as it is. However a side-effect seems to be that I have totally and utterly lost my voice. I honestly thought complete laryngitis only happened to people in 1970s situation comedies, but here I am, totally without speech, croaking like a Suffolk turkey.
It happened just like that, a consequence of prolonged bouts of coughing. On Thursday I was crossly informing an important business contact that she would have to call me back as I’d just finished cooking my faggots; on Friday I had a voice but an achey and unauthoritative one; now I am as silent as Stephen Hawking in a power cut. It is immensely frustrating.
I popped round to Short Tony’s, but the conversation was unrewarding; I cannot even say things like ‘because I tell you to’ to the Baby, and I had to mime in the Village Shop.
The LTLP has flu as well, although she has not lost her voice as there is no God. It is all a bit of a worry when you have a little Baby to look after. Both of our families live outside Norfolk, in the sticks, so we do not have them to call on for support in such a time.
Of all the Baby-related things that I have had to consider (which nursery should she attend/what injections should she have/should I have her circumcised etc), the idea of moving house to be nearer family simply didn’t occur to me. It would be useful in many ways.
These are the feverish thoughts that race through the mind of a delirious sick person, as he lies on the couch in front of a non-working TV. I console myself that when I am better I will be able to pretend that they did not occur to me at all.