I think it was a one day cold or flu or something. Fever, rampant ooginess, and a burst of whining. (Though, I think the British call it whinging.)
Happily, it wasn't anything that a 14 hour coma couldn't take care of. I woke up this morning, feeling refreshed, happier and once I did my laundry and hung it out over the mud flat in the back (I couldn't help but thing that this was a disaster waiting to happen, but it's got to be better than the smell of wet clothes for four days that I'd get otherwise), I was ready to face the day.
A quick shower, a run down to the village centre to the library to check my email and I'm ready to see if I can do anything else today.
BTW, new writers that I have to share with people: Mark Billingham - I just read a couple of his books on the way back and forth to work this week. He's really good. Gritty crime dramas that take place in London.
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