On Saturday I tootled along to the doctor for a couple of jabs, one to protect me against Covid the other was for flu – I think We were very lucky when the world was closed and we were confined to quarters because of the scourge of Covid, Neither of us were ill, although on one occasion our test were positive but we both felt absolutely fine. We obviously isolated ourselves until we were clear again, but had no symptoms, not even a sniffle thank goodness. However several of our friends were extremely ill from the dreaded virus so I definitely wanted to protect myself. so I happily had the jab and one for the common cold too.
Sunday morning I woke up and gosh did I feel poorly – so poorly in fact that we cancelled a trip to the south to visit some Devonian friends, rearranging for next weekend. There was a film from the fifties or sixties called something like “The Lost Weekend”, well that was what I had, plus a lost Monday. Thankfully today I feel much better, glad because I’m hosting the inaugural meeting of a new writing group, KNO₃ tomorrow so I would have hated to have to cancel. I didn’t have a headache, I didn’t feel sick, I just felt horrid. Now was it the Covid jab, or the cold and flu jab, had I just picked up some nameless lurgy, I really cannot tell. However, when I next need an updated jab, probably next year, I will still have it – a couple of days in bed feeling a bit yuk, is better than being unprotected.
Now I am behind with my writing, I have started something to share with the group tomorrow so I must get cracking with it – it starts with an unnamed narrator walking up a steep mounting path beside a spectacular chasm in some tropical place, I really wouldn’t do that in real life, I was born and brought up in flatlands, and the idea of “up” doesn’t appeal. However, in fiction I can do whatever I like. Here is my opening paragraph:
The walls were dark, emerald green, shiny as if lacquered. Were they wet? There was something of the amphibian about them and I didn’t want to touch their mottled surface. I didn’t want to walk too close to the edge on the other side of the path either, the rail looked old and rickety and I didn’t like the idea of putting my hand on it. As usual I had dawdled, had stopped to stare up the narrow canyon at the strip of sky above, hoping to see the rare jaja birds whose cries – whose shrieks echoed down, bouncing off the glistening walls of the couloir.
No doubt I will share the highlights of our meeting tomorrow.
