Taking a Flu Day

Going to bed late and sleeping is reportedly a marker of intelligence. In that case, I am definitely something of a genius. So, it’s always a shock when I have to get up in the morning. I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding it!

I’ve lived in such a form of jet lag that when I first visited New York City in the 1980s, I had absolutely no trouble lasting till midnight. The only glitch was the bars were open till 3 a.m.! That was a real novelty to a Londoner at a time when all the pubs shut at 11 p.m. It was a hangover from trying to keep armament workers sober during World War I — closing time was 9:30 p.m.!

This past week was my annual flu injection. Fortuitously, my wife suffers from asthma, so she also gets a shot. For a change, we went to a medical facility for both of us. It’s not much of a date, but it’s a start.

The monthly farmers market was that morning, so we took my scooter. Due to my last relapse in February, I’ve hardly used the scooter and dust even covered it.

It’s lightweight, so it’s easily broken down and shoved in the boot! When I bought it, I could even break it down myself. I’d forgotten how useful it can be. The family has now gone veggie and so our bags were bulky and heavy. I managed to carry most of it, only having to return to the car once to dump the shopping.

Then, off to lunch.

As ever, the place we first tried had a step and no ramp. Whatever. It was a hot October day, so it would be nice to sit outside quaffing decent-looking coffee and tucking into a full English breakfast. To the uninitiated: That’s a plate of sausage, bacon, fried egg, baked beans, and toast, to which anything can be added. In Scotland, it’s haggis, though due to centuries of political opprobrium, they never call it an “English” breakfast.

There was a problem: They hadn’t yet gotten a license for eating outside. Drinks only. A shame, but at least we wouldn’t be in earshot of the loud Christian street preacher. Sighted next to him was a spiritually peaceful Muslim stall. Such reserved quietness was ironically just far more British.

So, we ended up where we always end up: a pizza chain with easy access and a menu that turns out to have improved immensely. I don’t get out much, but it’s reported that there has been a cratering in the restaurant trade since Brexit. To survive you just have to improve.

Eating pizza while pretending I’m sitting on a Lambretta! (Courtesy of John Connor)

Yes, I should get out more often. The next day, though, was a complete wipeout.

Still, I spend most days in my bedroom anyway. At least it was for a good reason this time.

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