Living in the sheepdog trials

Now that my lungs are feeling better, I can whistle for Rob, instead of just hissing. He says it's like living in the sheepdog trials.

I've been using my invalidity to sort laundry and tidy the bedroom in easy stages. I get tired very easily, but I also get bored very easily. I've read a stack of Georgette Heyer and a truly awful Piatkus historical romance soft porn novel. It's all about a courtesan who's a good girl really. Irritating.

I've also been packing for our holiday. We leave on Friday, after which I can be ill with a clear conscience, knowing I'm not taking Rob away from work.

Rearranging the bedroom so that Rob's side of the bed is away from the door makes walking in far less hazardous. It's such a relief. I must work something out so that next time we move a cot in we don't need to move the bed back opposite the window.

And tomorrow I must go to an ATM machine and sort out my PIN numbers for my new current a/c accounts.

Take a bottle brush

And scrub
All the gunk from out my lungs
If you don't catch the bug
I will
I will
If the bug's not there
It's here