Right, so now that the throat infection that looked like a half-eaten lasagne has gone, I’m starting to really dig this illness. Basically it means I’m always tired and sleep until midday at least (but, because I am me, it is not quite enough to beat my rabid insomnia until midnight). My spleen supposedly explodes if I do anything that looks like hard work, ergo the doctor has told me to stay at home a while. This gives me lots of time to read up on things I want to online, watch films, read books, and do whatever the hell I like at home. Yesterday I was persuaded to go for a walk to the beach by the Sisters Tuson (who are a bit like a South African version of the Brothers Grimm, except with less fairy tales, more cakes, and astounding singing rather than writing), and nearly died, thus proving that I am incapable of doing anything strenuous! I love it! We took stupid photos, too:

Today I slept until the afternoon, and only got up when my friend Joe rang ‘cos he was outside with his dog. They came in and had coffee in the sun on my patio, with the Charbonnel et Walker Milk Marc De Champagne Truffles that arrived in a huge great big box of gifts (!) from Lottie last week. We then went for burgers at the place on the corner of the road nearby and enjoyed the global warming February sunshine. I got back and had an email from work saying that people normally work half days when they come back from this disease, which made my day. I don’t think I’ll take them up on that unless I feel awful after the first day, but I may start an hour or two later to get the extra hours of sleep for a week or two. Really, I ought to start making money by selling my infected kisses. Once you get passed the awful throat illness and are able to eat (ravenously) again, it’s the best damn illness in the world! Perhaps the most amazing thing? It’s all entirely legitimate. Woohoo!

I can hardly hope to beat Mary Robinette Kowal’s recent tails of medical madness but, seeing as I am homebound with little to do, I guess you’ll be seeing a few more updates from me. I had to go back to the doctor today and say “excuse me honourable miss, but your medicine hasn’t fixed me. In fact, my throat has become a heaving pit of puss and my ear drums are about to explode. Also? An oil prospector has decided during the night to drill for black gold inside my head, and I’m already taking more than the recommended amounts of ibuprofen to little effect.”

Or words to that effect.

We (or… she?) came to the conclusion that I need tests for Glandular Fever in the morning. That’s great, huh? (for the ninety-odd percent of people reading this that are in the North America somewhere, that’s mononucleosis, the kissing gift that keeps on giving…) Not only can I eat nothing but Thai chicken soup and overcooked pasta, but I also can’t sleep or even concentrate for the plethora of prescribed pills that I’m shoving down my throat at as regular intervals. Hurrah!

So, when the day was looking bad, my work phone went off and Bridget’s name sparked up! I hadn’t spoken to her on the phone since we were in San Diego, and she’s doing the Chicago show right now, so I figured it was something important. Well, it wasn’t… but it was an ego-booster. She was ringing to tell me that the actress I knew from Los Angeles (who normally plays a character on a popular US show that, err, ends with a north-westerly US state’s name) had come up to her in Chicago, and said “Hi Bridget” then skipped straight to “hey is Chris here? He’s lovely… and cute!” Sucks that I’m in London, then. Haha.

On the subject of shows, here’s a nice article on what we build: NAIAS 2008