I never made it into work today. I did give it some serious thought this morning, but the headache that had been niggling over the last couple of days had decided to upgrade itself to a complaint. My cold had decided to make its feelings known on the matter and in the end I thought bugger it, I’m going back to bed for a couple of hours. I rang in sick – just in case anyone missed me.

I woke up at dinner time and took some more pain killers. The headache was now just whinging in the background again, but my cold was still making it’s feelings known. So I got something to eat and then look the dogs for a walk down the fields in the hope that the fresh air would unblock my nose. It did, although I can’t decide if a runny nose is in fact an improvement.

This morning I had thought that if I got a couple of hours sleep I could go into work this afternoon. As is apt to happen, I changed my mind. No one else ever does, if they're ill they are off for days – in fact a certain person had been off for nearly a week, so why the hell should I feel guilty over one day.

My upbringing I suppose, both my parents worked hard and set the example that to take time off you had to be really ill. I can only ever remember my mum taking to her bed once in her life; regardless of the rheumatoid arthritis, the osteoporosis and the angina, it was chicken poxs that succeeded where all else had failed. She’d caught it off Stephen, who was about four at the time and it totally knocked her off her feet.

++++

Whilst out with the dogs I found a tree that had been killed by woodworm – I’ve lived in the country all my life and it had never crossed my mind once that, that could happen. Woodworm was something antique furniture suffered from or old floorboards, I didn’t expect to find it down the field. Well you live and you learn as they say.