A Terrible Patient

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I am poorly sick…. and I hate being poorly. I never really stop rushing around and then when I do, I inevitably let my guard down and then I get ill.

This is where I find myself on this lovely sunny day. In bed, surrounded by liquids, tissues and paracetamol; whilst the sun shines outside my window. I am home alone as well, which only serves to make me even more pathetic, I have to rustle up my own soup and get my own drinks… with only Lucy Cat to comfort me (which to be fair she is doing a good job of).

I was sleeping, but now Bradford Council have decided to send their entire arsenal of landscaping men to sort out the public grassed areas on the street – so the volume level is way too high.

So I have been reminiscing about when I was a child and what being home sick meant to me. My mum was the best nurse – she was a bit naughty in fact; only needing a slight encouragement to keep me home for that day. She would then proceed to dose me up on Cream of Tomato soup and thickly buttered bread, whilst I laid in her bed watching the small black and white TV (with only 3 channels on it and a dial).

As with many of my memories, the crux of the matter is food and I always remember that my Dad would make me toast or a sandwich which he would always cut into small squares – as if my poorliness stopped me from chewing properly – which of course it did, because I was just so tired and weak and pathetic!

Today I have managed a big bowl of spinach and watercress soup to boost my vitamin intake and whilst looking for an image of tomato soup – found a fantastic blog from www.theleftoverqueen.com  so its not all a bad day!

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