Firstly, a very happy Christmas to all my readers. By Thursday of last week, the roads were just clear enough for us to go and pick up our turkey, and do the last shopping for fresh stuff. Christmas Eve was the traditional routine - a seafood feast with a celebratory viewing of Muppet Christmas Carol (with obligatory and tuneless singing along). However, I wasn't feeling too brilliant and Andrew was astonished when I voluntarily tucked myself into bed at about 11. By Christmas morning, I was in the full grip of a particularly nasty virus. Christmas Day and Boxing Day were just a blur. I was running a high temperature, feeling very light headed and the lurgy had thoughtfully settled on my chest and throat. Yesterday was a slight improvement but still pretty grim. We've still not had our Christmas dinner, as all I can manage is soup, smoothies and ice cream. I've lost the power of speech, so can't talk to anyone, unless sputtering croaking counts. I feel desperately sorry for Andrew, as it must be counting among the dullest Christmas EVER for him as I am terrible company. He is being his usual brilliant self, and is making me strange medicinal potions involving honey, whiskey and Lemsip that leave me feeling even more spaced out (in a good way). Occasionally he varies the medicine by administering doses of Navy Strength Plymouth Gin. One of the most horrible and painful effects of the virus has been the way it has made what's left of my lymph nodes turn into throbbing golf balls - my neck, armpits and other areas have been really sore.

I'm sorry this is not a more festive post - hopefully when I'm feeling a bit better we'll be able to enjoy our Christmas feast and start talking to people again. The main beneficiaries have been the dogs who have been enjoying a good deal of cold turkey.