The Easter weekend was pleasant enough but by Monday I was in the throes of a truly stinking cold. This morning I absolutely had to go out and I did so without a scrap of makeup, that’s how bad things feel (although I was considerate enough to cover three-quarters of my face with a gigantic pair of shades). Now it’s almost 4 pm, and while my dog William lies in the patch of sunshine that always lands by his bed at this time of day, I am sniffling, coughing and hacking as if this were the middle of November. Oh and tomorrow I have to take Victoria to Chester to have her stitches removed. Damn you air con! Why do Starbucks and Waterstone’s persist on spewing glacial, recycled air every single time the mercury outside barely raises above 19C? This isn't Africa! Yesterday I spent all day in bed, right under the covers, and with the heating cranked up as well, as the temperature outside had re-plummeted to a much more seasonal +10C. When such Woe is Me events take place, I seek solace in reading, although even that, on occasion, is too much trouble. And if you don’t feel like reading either, but a photographic book is just too damn heavy to hold in bed, then let me suggest you get yourself a copy of Ricë Freeman-Zachery’s Living The Creative Life. I’ve owned this book for quite some years and it’s one of those safe fall-backs for when I’m... Read more →