I just didn’t get round to blogging yesterday. My cold just got worse and started to affect my chest. Unfortunately I didn’t have my inhalers with me; I don’t use them very often. I changed handbags and didn’t move them over and the others were on the bedside cabinet.

I tried to cough up a lung at work yesterday morning but failed miserably – the lengths we women go to just to lose some weight. After driving everyone nuts with my barking I decided that it might just be a good idea to visit the doctors. The tight band constricting my chest was a clue, along with the green gluey stuff that I eventually managed to get past my throat. At times like that I’m grateful for Kleenex – ordinary tissues just aren’t up to it. If you’re not careful one blow and you’ve a shredded bit of paper and a handful of snot. You just can’t cut cost on the important things.

I’m going to have a bit of a moan now – Oh, for heavens sake, don’t roll your eyes like that, you should be used to it. I don’t go to the doctors very often, just (and here’s a clue, Mrs Receptionist) when I’m ill. So having the mini Hitler on the end of the phone interrogating me as to whether it was urgent and basically wanting to know the insides and outsides of a paper bag didn’t go down too well. And I bloody well refuse to discuss my illness with some jumped up snotty nosed cow on a power ride. It’s private; I’ve told her I’m ill, so I’m damned sure I’m not telling her what’s wrong with me. Although as I kept coughing during our conversation – at one point I was coughing that much that even started to gag - it wouldn’t have taken a rocket scientist to have come up with the answer...

…. After a friendly chinwag with the receptionist I eventually got my emergency appointment.

I must have spent more time on the telephone trying to get the appointment than I did face to face with the doctor. I was in and out so bloody fast I hardly had time to flash my bra at him. But he did confirm my suspicions, I have a chest infection. It’s OK, I don’t expect sympathy – I know better than that. You’re not likely to care *cough* how ill I am as you’re all too busy after all. I mean, you’ve not even had time to send me feedback on those two stories yet – No, Sommer, I’m not including you or Margaret in that subtle hint. But yes to everyone else; I am still wittering on about it.

Anyway, I collected the antibiotics from the chemist and I tried going home to bed. Within a minute of walking through the door my dad wanted me to look at the dressing on his leg and the cat demanded to be fed. Am I the only one who feeds the cat in our house? Neither of them asked me how I was or what I was doing home during the day.

I eventually made it to bed but it just made me cough even more lying down, so I got up again. I moped around for a bit. You know what it’s like when you feel like crap but don’t know what to do with yourself? Being ill is boring so I did what most people would do, I went back into work – even sitting through a departmental self assessment is slightly less boring than being ill in bed with no one to look after you. And I may just as well be ill at work as at home, at least at work Craig makes me drinking chocolate and feels sorry for me.

I did think about taking the day off today, but then remembered the car had to go for its MOT. Eldest drove me back to work early this morning – all of the roads have been dug up around here and its traffic chaos. Half an hour to drive just two miles. I now need to find some sucker who will agree to drive me back to the garage tonight as I’m fairly sure I’ll not manage to walk it without keeling over in the process.

And believe me that wouldn’t be a good thing, I don’t want to get found out for a start. Himself was making muttering noises about me going to the doctors this morning as I didn't appear to be getting any better. You see, I haven’t actually told him I’ve already been or that I’m on antibiotics. He’d only end up asking really stupid questions, such as ‘if you went to the doctors, why the hell did you go back into work if you were ill’ and I didn’t feel up to it to be honest.

Then he'd have insisted that I didn’t go in today either, which would have made life difficult with the car. I was just thinking of him, really. He'd have taken time off work to take it instead of me, so I decided that if I stretched the truth just a tad I could say I went to the doctors today instead. I obviously couldn’t go home afterwards as I’ve no car and I’ve then got the rest of the weekend to recovery. It’s hardly twisting the truth by much, now is it?