…but I’m lying. Of course I like. It doesn’t make for good reading though, but anyway.
So today was the first day back at work for a couple weeks, and it wasn’t great. My head wasn’t in it at all. It was partly the weather: we’ve come home to what appears to be the only part of the country where the sun refuses to shine. At least we don’t have to worry about watering the tomatoes.
But it was also probably something to do with the after-effects of what was either noro- or rota-virus, whatever strain of stomach-flu that’s been ravaging the South Island this summer. There’s really no point describing what went on, except it struck both Rosa and I two days apart, enough to make sure that our last week of holiday as a family has been pretty quiet. Or as you might imagine, almost quiet.
So driving back from down south on Saturday would have been a lot better in different circumstances. We were in the car by 4:30am, the stars out in force for a clear day. Becky had found some handy pills (more scientific, and probably more effective, than a cork) so I was able to do most of my share of the driving. By 5:00pm we were at Picton, only to find that the ferry was delayed by an hour. But home we reached, in the end.
Yesterday was a wipeout.
And today. Well, despite having to work I suppose it was better. I actually ate three decent meals for the first time in a week. That’s a small victory.