Hello there! I have been having (what we call back in the home country) a time of it. These photos are from Liverpool about two weeks back, where I first thought I felt the inklings of a cold.
It's the Thoroughbred of Sin! (My love to anyone who gets the reference. Also, it's actually Queen Victoria. But that's nowhere near as exciting.)
Just inklings, but nothing to worry about… or so I thought. I pottered along, then made my way to Oxford whereupon the inklings developed into a rather painful throat and a lost voice. Consequently, I had to cancel my planned rendezvous back in London with H.CarryOn and S.FondueLawyer to instead book a B&B in Gatwick, so that I could fly easily and without stress to Munich from Gatwick Airport (yesterday).
As we like to shout at each other in the wayfaringchocolate household whenever the opportunity arises: PUT SOME PANTS ON! (Seriously, it was so cold, and raining. Hardly setting a good example for his grandson, is he? Unless the example is, you know, pneumonia.)
Yesterday came and, still lacking a voice, I made my way to the airport, where my flight was many hours delayed.
Dear England, thank you for your concern for my private rounded resting cushion.
But that wasn’t the issue. Friends, a word of advice about air travel when you have a cold: don’t do it. Just don’t. Ears hurt lots and lotsy on the descent. However, I was glad that this pain lasted only half an hour.
Or so I thought. Fool.
Cue getting to the hostel in Munich; cue sudden loss of hearing; cue feelings of head-in-vice and drills-in-ears and mind-in-inwards-melting. Not. Fun.
Oh my, this actually expresses the way I felt last night. Art, you complete me. (From the Icons in Transformation exhibition at the Liverpool Cathedral.)
I did learn one valuable thing though: I have been fearing lately that my attention span is becoming speck-like (not the bacon kind), but I’m pleased to announce that I managed to spend four hours in bed concentrating on every minute sensation in my ear drums. Now that’s fun!
I did manage four hours of sleep, and quite enjoyed my subsequent (to)day in Munich (details to come).
Until the worst thing of all happened:
I lost my sense of taste.
And discovered this upon getting myself pleasantly settled down to try one of my gladdifying new chocolates from a little German deli.
Readers, it’s been (as we say in the home country) tough. But we shall endure.
And now I only have the memory of your flavour, supermarket mass-produced banoffee pie.
