Monday and its time to go home and I feel crap, sore throat, headache and painful back. This is certainly not as good as it gets, in fact this is crap. So we put cases in the car have breakfast, toast and coffee for me, and then finish loading the car. We pay our bill and realise we have been suckered for parking. Its how they get their fee money back when you book through an agency, slimy bastards.

I drive us home, stopping once for a sandwich and a comfort break. We arrive home about 2 0’clock. I assemble the new veg rack, read a letter from a friend and do a lateral flow test as my senses tell me this might be COVID. I do the test and almost instantly the red line pops up. I isolate myself in the back bedroom send out for paracetamol and cough drops. I try to cancel my Wednesday hospital appointment, its an answer phone, some one will ring me back, they haven’t. I wont be going out to dinner on Wednesday either and going to the BGSPD conference is looking unlikely. So my planned re-retirement has gone tits up.

So this is the pits and I have to ring the GP tomorrow to tell him my back pain (possible kidney infection) is back again and is painful. I would like to be optimistic and cheery. A positive Polly Anna of joy and comfort but I am not, just very frustrated that I was giving up work to focus on my health and to get fit again and fight a good fight against cancer but I feel I have been bushwhacked by my body. I hate being ill, all the smells associated with ill health are loathsome and the interminable waiting for the body to get its act together is pure frustration. I’m very tempted just to down a large brandy and stuff it all, but I’m too sensible for that, besides there is a hedgehog to feed, squirrels to nurture and poems to be YouTubed at some point. I shall write no more now and attend to being kind to myself, I’ve got a feeling I’m going to get fed up with myself quite rapidly. Worst of all is the feeling of being a burden.