My boyfriend is a bully. He has been trying to get me to admit that I am not particularly well, however, I have not the time available to be ill. I have much to do and a relatively short amount of time in which to squeeze everything. Yes I have been cold in the evenings (and days – I wore three jumpers to work today, as well as a scarf and coat), ok so I have not had much energy and of course this snivelling cough has started to plague me more than it should, but I am perfectly fit and healthy. Ahem.
Whilst sat listening to Steve as he pottered around the kitchen cooking me tea, I not only had to maintain the knitted trio but also wrap a blanket around me, tuck myself under a duvet and turn the fire on high. I was shivering a plenty. An hour later, filled with hot food I was still dithering beneath my layers. Meanwhile, Steve felt the living room was reaching something similar to sauna levels – which is some feat for our house. It was at this point he put his foot down and pretty much told me off.
So, I have been sent to bed with an order to feel better – because apparently I’m ill! I have been rolled in a duvet and tucked in tight with not one but TWO hot water bottles. Everything I could need is at reaching distance, I barely have to move: a hot cup of fruit squash, the DVD remote controlling season seven of the Gilmore Girls, my Stieg Larsson book, my laptop, phone, cough syrup, glasses. . . ah, my knitting is downstairs! I feel about eight years old when I would lie on the sofa with a thick wool blanket. For some reason I remember always having a towel over my pillows as well – I’m not sure why it was needed with a cold?! The only thing I feel short of is a bowl of Angel Delight – then the childhood sick day would be complete!
I don’t want to admit that Steve is right – how could he be? Obviously, I am just needing a little lie down to recharge my batteries before a long day tomorrow and our jaunt to Newcastle this weekend. He’s a bully, a big mean bully. But one that knows how to make everything alright.