I spent a very unpleasant night with repeating, pointless dreams, and awoke after broken sleep to find i was a little better than yesterday, but not much.

As I rose and drove Julia to work I realised I was still in a  lot of pain, and that she nagged me constantly.  She won’t go to the doctor when she is ill, but it seems that I have to.

I rang from work, was eighth in the queue, but being on my own, was able to leave it on speaker as I packed the only two orders of the day. I waited well over 20 minutes, only to be told there was nobody I could talk to. However, the receptionist muttered something about the on-call doctor and, after a  description of my symptoms, phlegm, coughing fits, torn muscles and a sound like broken bagpipes when I lie down and breathe at night, it was agreed that the doctor would see me at 11.40.

I now have antibiotics, steroids and confirmation that all my imaginary maladies (obstructed bowel, appendicitis,  hernia) are just a few (painful) pulled muscles. Things are slightly better, and I am hopeful that Christmas will be OK.

Julia saw nacreous clouds on her way home from work. They are unusual in UK. She took photos, but when she sent them to me she forgot I’m not very technical and she needs to email them, not send them by SMS. I didn’t see them myself, as they had already passed by the time I left the shop.

The afternoon in the shop passed in a blur, as I was still in a lot of pain. I don’t want to take more time off as I’ve already been off a couple of times in the last few months – it’s my lack of immune system, I’m afraid. In the end, the main problem is not the cough, but the pulled muscles.

Ah well . . .

More sunsets . . .