The body is still dragging itself off the floor after a thorough doing from a gang of viral, bacterial and perhaps fungal opportunists. Just when you feel like jumping for joy, it all takes a dive and you feel like crap again.
Last week I had a full week back at work. On Monday morning, I got to the room early, so I lay down on the floor for five minutes' rest. When the clients arrived, they found me fast asleep on the floor.
The clients helped lift the mood, especially the easy-on-the-eye ones, and I was able to power through the blahs. How fortunate one is.
By Wednesday, things were going well, and I worked 14 hours non-stop, with a working lunch at the computer, and a bar of chocolate for dinner.
On Friday night, when the last client had left the room, I put off the light, lay down on the floor and slept for an hour.
If the British Airways folk don't get a move on, they'll miss their last slot for a strike. After a ballot and months of prevarication, they still have to give at least a week's notice. In my day, it wasn't like this. A strike could be wildcat or lightning. There was no talk of mass ballots and notice periods.