Day 9: Your Loving Arms

 Yesterday I was the queen of denial. I'm not really sick sick I told myself. I just have a little flu bug. Today my 'little' flu bug said "Oh no you didn't. You're my bitch now!" I literally slept all day; getting up only to imbibe hot flu medicine and shovel a little sustenance into my mouth. Around three o'clock I was finally feeling well enough to get up and shower. I joined Stylvia and Greg at our local pub the Sawyer's Arms for dinner.

  The Sawyer's Arms looks just like a pub should. Situated on a corner, one side has picnic tables lining the wall. After five these are always occupied with customers, others line the sidewalk finding a perch for their drinks on the wooden kegs placed on either side of the door, or the deep window ledges on the other side of the building. The bottom floor is strictly standing room only. So, if you are there for a meal like we were, you head upstairs where it's a little quieter and they have real tables. Unfortunately the bartenders upstairs are a couple of French women with thick accents, and the kitchen is in the basement. It is a struggle to get what you want, but the atmosphere and food make it worth the challenge.

  I was dying to try the beef and Ruddles Ale pie. The first time we ate at the pub I ordered the fish and chips, and spent the meal coveting the pies that Steve and Greg had ordered. The hearty beef pie came with carrots,  peas, mash, and a pitcher o' gravy. Yum. It was just what I needed. After dinner Steve tried to convince me the perfect aperitif would be a glass of hot whisky with lemon. He was convinced it would soothe my throat, and help me to sleep. The trouble was trying to explain what we wanted to the bartender. After five minutes of unproductive description, I decided I was just fine with pomegranate tea.

Day 7: A Day of Rest

  It started as a tickle in the back of my throat yesterday. As I wandered the rooms of the National Gallery I tried to ignore the growing discomfort. It's just at\ little dry spot I told myself. I just need some hot tea. By this morning I couldn't deny it any longer: I have a cold.

  All I really wanted to do was lay around in my p.j.s all day, but the cleaning lady was coming, so we had to vacate the flat by nine o'clock. Greg and I trudged up and down Bond street until I figured she had finished, and then I headed back to the flat. There I spent the rest of the day napping and catching up on laundry.