So, I am into my second week off sick with the 'flu - as verified by the Doctor yesterday and I am officially bored/ depressed/ fed up with my invalid status.
Mr M has been a saint and a saviour, cooking for me, building fires for me, cheering me up and generally keeping me sane.
Isn't it funny - when you are in work, you think that a few weeks off pottering around at home would be bliss. And it would, if you were actually fit and healthy! Even pottering isn't so much fun when your bones are aching, your head is pounding, and going upstairs leaves you ready for a lie down . . .
I read the story on the news last week about the average Council employee in Northern Ireland taking an inordinate amount of sick days and I ranted about how it gave us healthy, hardworking Council workers a bad name. And here I am on day 6 of a potential 9 days off, raising that average with the best of them.
I'm trying to keep occupied with Facebook, reading (Gomorrah - Italy's Other Mafia) and watching back episodes of America's Next Top Model, it's about all my wee sick brain can handle at the minute.