As an expat, sometime it feels as if all I notice are the differences from home. Some things however, are so similar that it jolts you into noticing.
|Lemsips the same whereever you are|
This week for instance I am recovering, well recovered really, from a nasty bout of flu. Which, as it happens sounded remarkable similar to the bouts of flu my family in the UK have been struggling with, and unless this super bug is carried by an equally super sneeze that can travel 300 crow miles (exactly, I checked) it’s not the same bug. The symptoms; however, sounded so similar that my son asked if I’d caught from my brother, who apparently had passed it on to everyone else, but barring a super strong virus with a seven week incubation period it seemed unlikely.
I don’t know how other people like to nurse a virus, personally I like plenty of biscuits, indulgent TV, microwave meals (for Mr Sunshine) and Lemsip. Luckily for me Mr Sunshine was a nurse in a past life and leaped like a gazelle to provide my cure-alls. Mr Sunshine is as caring as a nurse as I am an indifferent one. He fought the same virus for several weeks and I had to wonder if I recovered so quickly because he’d taken such good care of me. Would he have recovered in a week if I’d been as caring? It was thoughts like this that sent off my constant companion, guilt, into overdrive.
Guilt is my guilty secret, it’s the sin I indulge in whenever I let my guard down, like a nail biter whose fingers rise unbidden to her mouth while watching TV or sat in the waiting room of a Doctors surgery. The nail biter isn’t aware she’s chewing her fingers until they start to bleed or someone close knocks her hand from her mouth. Well, that’s what it’s like when you make friends with guilt. You are aware it does no good, benifits no one and makes you look ugly but once you start it’s really hard to stop.
Guilt can consume, and spill over into the ridiculous.
Monday night, feeling too ill to manage the final flight of stairs I slept in the guest bedroom, I fell asleep alone with: throat pastilles, tissues and an empty mug of Dutch Lemsip by the bed. I woke around 5am staring into two bright eyes - Alfies. Sometime during the night he pushed open the stiff door, sneaked onto the bed and rested his head on the pillow. As my eyes began to focus in the half-light, I noticed that between me and Alfie was some rather odd shapes. I felt a lump in my sore throat as I realised that during the night our sweet little dog must have rounded up all his favourite toys from different corners of the house and delivered them silently (even the horrid orange squeaky ball) onto the bed, where he waited patiently for me to wake up and appreciate his gift.
Even the dog is a better nurse than me!
|My attempt at the Hairy Bikers pies.. hummm something else |
that's not changing fast - my cooking skills
Some things will never change