Oh dear. Last week Mr FF had a cold, aka man flu, which meant whilst he was able to attend the various office lunches he is invited to at this time of year, he was unable to do much else and certainly not venture near the kitchen. He moaned a lot, constantly reported his symptoms to me and made spectacular noises, it was so bad he even put the central heating on. You will gather I wasn't that sympathetic.
Then at the weekend I started and this cold has been a killer. I felt really awful on Sunday but I'd planned to get the kitchen ceiling painted that day as Mr FF would be out with his walking group and he promised to bring me a fish supper so I didn't have to cook, just paint. I decided that since I already felt bad, a bit more bad wouldn't make much difference and at least the job would get done. I took my time and drunk lots of orange juice to keep my vitamin C levels up, promising myself a hot bath with lavender and tea tree oil when I finished. I did get the job done, it looks great and I'm so pleased its finished but my goodness I've been unwell since then. I had to take to my bed early Sunday evening and stayed there until Monday afternoon. I hardly slept Sunday and when Mr FF brought me tea in the morning, I sat up in bed to drink it, promptly fell asleep and poured the lot over me and the duvet. My joints are achy and I've been really weak, haven't felt like knitting or reading. Its always the way isn't it, you imagine some time in bed will be good but when you do get that time you are just too ill to enjoy it. And as for sympathy, not much around I'm just getting reminded that I was extremely rude about the man flu.