Florence Nightingale.

Since I became quite poorly with a gastric bug last Monday I have become a moaning minnie ,  I mean to say Florence has taken to paying me a visit to check on me. 
 I am sure you can see this cat smile. 
I think all sick beds should have the addition of a warm purring cat at least for a few minutes a day. 
We are having to keep the Golden Retriever away, I couldn’t have him land on my poorly tummy at the moment, rest assured I get up for a little while to say hello to him and find him laying across the bottom of the stairs, lest it should escape his notice that I have escaped from my bedroom. 
I am doing all right on the knitting magazine stakes, The Knitter came on Thursday, Interweave Knits came today and is still unwrapped waiting for the most delightful of moments to unwrap it and a new wool shop has opened in Leamington and hubby went to it on a spying mission and bought me a couple of lovely Rowan magazines. (more on that another day)   Actually I don’t know what I would have done without hubby in the last week, he took the week off work and became Florence Nightingales understudy and has helped me in all manner of uncomfortable situations. 
I would like to say I am getting better, but I am clearly not, although I am holding my own on the hydration stakes, diorolite has become my best friend and today I woke up without the cracking hangover dehydration headache and without the right hand side kidney pain.  
Samples have been taken as we ended up in the out of hours doctors clinic looking for extra help last night.  
I am allright really, as I said, I have become a bit of a whinge bag. 

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