In The Nest Of My Bed

4th January 2013

The fridge is nearly empty - bereft of green veggies anyway.  I haven’t spent any time in the kitchen for several days. My husband is wonderful at washing up and keeping it tidy.  But this morning when I come down to make my lemon and ginger tea it feels sad and echoey as if it’s a foreign place I’m visiting on my way through to another country.

I’m letting this cold keeep me in the nest of my bed. I cancel my hair appointment and lovely weekend plans. While my husband goes to the supermarket with a list - lozenges and cough mixture, broccoli and eggs, I email our consultant neurologist for help with filling out the form for my husband to re-apply for his driving licence. Should we tick the box that says he suffers from serious memory problems? He emails back yes but to say it’s ‘semantic’ - mild to moderate -  and refer them to him to confirm his fitness to continue driving. It’s such a relief  - it’s been like a throbbing sore in my mind ....want to do the right thing, get the answer right when it’s all so unclear what the right answer is....

It’s also a relief to go back to bed and dive into my novel - The Secret River by Kate Grenville....escape into the horror stories of life for the settlers and the Aborigines in New South Wales in 1814. Rather that than face whatever looming thing it is I’m  trying to escape from in my own little life in Devon in 2013. By being ill.....