Can any one tell me why it is that a Summer cold always feels so much worse than one that you catch during the Winter? Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you’re likely to be glad of an excuse to stay inside and cosset yourself when the wind and rain are doing their worst out of doors, whereas in the Summer months you are simply resentful of not being able to get out and about. Whatever the reason I have woken up this morning with a dry throat, swollen glands and feeling dreadful. There is absolutely no point in my trying to do anything profitable; it will only need doing again once I am well. So, it’s a couple of days dozing in a chair punctuated by short bursts of re-reading for me.
When I’m not well I always seem to return to books that I’ve read in the past and which will therefore demand very little of me in the way of exercising any brain cells that haven’t already waved a white flag and surrendered in the face of the enemy. Often they will be children’s books that I knew and loved when I was teaching Children’s Literature. In fact I think I am going to dig out my copies of Diana Wynne Jones’ novels and work my way through one or two of those. But what do you turn to when the bugs have done their worst and you feel like nothing better than a weak and wimpy dishrag? Even though I hope this isn’t going to be a protracted nor a recurring event, any suggestions would be very welcome.