Well, I did manage to catch nearly an hours kip between 10.30pm and 2.30am, followed by briefly intermittent snatches of zzzzz before 4.00am. From that time onwards I lay abed, struggling to turn myself over now and again, accompanied by a selection of sounds emanating from the bedside radio. At approximately ten minute intervals, I found myself checking the clock assuming at least one and a half hours had passed. It seemed like a productive training course for anyone wishing to take up the post of full-time insomniac.
Whenever I moved the position of my arms, attempted to clear the mucus from my throat, or even tried some breathing exercises to aid relaxation, I was acutely reminded of the pain in my ribs. Between 7.30 and 10.15am, I almost caught myself napping, on one or two occasions, before becoming finally able to cast off the delusion that sleep was imminent.
By mid-afternoon, following a relaxing visit to Cafe Culture, sleep deprivation caught up with me. Stiff neck, bloated tum, wearily aching limbs (both upper and lower variety) and a general inability to cope with any sensory information whatsoever, eventually yielded to a relaxing snooze. I somehow suspect that it was my bodies unsubtle way of informing me that, in spite of my advancing years, I really do require more than three hours sleep in any 48 hour period. But, if that is the case, why is it currently so reluctant to grant me that luxury?
- living and frequently struggling with moderate M.E. -
where (bad) health, faith, politics and the joys and troubles of daily life collide.
ME
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
A Pain In The ...
Last night, as I sat relaxing with my beloved, I was suddenly struck by a sharply acute pain in the lower part of my chest on the right hand side. The pain was still there an hour later, although by this stage somewhat intermittently and feeling rather like a sharp bruise. it was certainly a quite unfamiliar sensation and I couldn't put it down to indigestion but, I'd have been far more worried had it been on the left side of the chest.
Checked my pulse and, that was fine and, unusually for me when I'm in any marked degree of discomfort, or even without that prompt, there was no hint of pallor. So far, so good but my beloved was quite concerned (I had to admit to her that I was too) so, I contacted the out of hours doctor who recommended I should take some of my usual pain-killers (tramadol) and, if I felt any worse at all he would come out to visit me. That provided a welcome degree of re-assurance but, he did also suggest I made an appointment with my own G.P.
There followed a night of intermittently discomforted sleep; although I've learned to cope with my regular aches and pain, any change, to the old familiar dis-ease, plays havoc with my already erratic sleep pattern. I made an appointment with my G.P., although it was a locum I actually saw, for this afternoon. As the day went on, I found at times that the action of swallowing, and even moving in certain ways, renewed the pains intensity.
The first thing the doctor asked was whether I had any pain in my legs, I had to laugh as I explained that I'd not noticed any change to their regular discomfort. She felt around the calf muscle, checking for any hint of DVT and whether a clot had travelled to my lungs. She thoroughly examined me, checking blood pressure, listening to my heart and lungs and, quite expertly (albeit inadvertently) applying light pressure to the most tender area of the rib cage. When I tried to breathe deeply, as she listened to my lungs, the pain recurred with an excruciating sharpness. The diagnosis turned out to be something to do with the intercostal muscles and, I'd already begun to wonder whether my pondly exertions (at the weekend) had maybe put a strain on the muscle. I readily admit that lifting out the planters, from the pond's murky depths, wasn't one of the easiest gardening chores.
On the positive side, somewhat like the herniated disc last year, it makes a change to have a specific pain whose cause is definable, alongside those sundry aches and discomforts the flesh is so regularly heir to!
Checked my pulse and, that was fine and, unusually for me when I'm in any marked degree of discomfort, or even without that prompt, there was no hint of pallor. So far, so good but my beloved was quite concerned (I had to admit to her that I was too) so, I contacted the out of hours doctor who recommended I should take some of my usual pain-killers (tramadol) and, if I felt any worse at all he would come out to visit me. That provided a welcome degree of re-assurance but, he did also suggest I made an appointment with my own G.P.
There followed a night of intermittently discomforted sleep; although I've learned to cope with my regular aches and pain, any change, to the old familiar dis-ease, plays havoc with my already erratic sleep pattern. I made an appointment with my G.P., although it was a locum I actually saw, for this afternoon. As the day went on, I found at times that the action of swallowing, and even moving in certain ways, renewed the pains intensity.
The first thing the doctor asked was whether I had any pain in my legs, I had to laugh as I explained that I'd not noticed any change to their regular discomfort. She felt around the calf muscle, checking for any hint of DVT and whether a clot had travelled to my lungs. She thoroughly examined me, checking blood pressure, listening to my heart and lungs and, quite expertly (albeit inadvertently) applying light pressure to the most tender area of the rib cage. When I tried to breathe deeply, as she listened to my lungs, the pain recurred with an excruciating sharpness. The diagnosis turned out to be something to do with the intercostal muscles and, I'd already begun to wonder whether my pondly exertions (at the weekend) had maybe put a strain on the muscle. I readily admit that lifting out the planters, from the pond's murky depths, wasn't one of the easiest gardening chores.
On the positive side, somewhat like the herniated disc last year, it makes a change to have a specific pain whose cause is definable, alongside those sundry aches and discomforts the flesh is so regularly heir to!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Spring Cleaning
I've spent a fair bit of time in the garden this week and have finally got around to vacuuming out some of the sludgy sediment from the pond. Initial efforts were somewhat thwarted by obstacles on the pond floor. Unfortunately, until the time is right to re-install the pump and underwater filter, the water lacks sufficient clarity to be able to see where such obstacles are situated.
As the pond vac restarted, following discharge of the previous cylinder load, I became puzzled as to why the suction wasn't working, as the motor was uttering its reassuring purr of strength. Having switched off the power, I duly removed the suction nozzle and sundry extension tubes but, all were clear. Next task was to disconnect the coiled suction hose from the cylinder where I observed a dark gelatinous mass at the top, almost as if a giant slug had taken up residence there. A vigorous shake of the hose revealed all, as a full grown frog, encased in mud, slowly unfolded itself. A few minutes later it took its first tentative hop back towards the pond.
I hadn't realized quite how strong the machines suction power was!
Today I donned arm length waterproof gloves and fished around to unearth some of these obstructive items, micromesh planters full of slimy aquatic compost but little sign of plant growth, planters full of oxygenating elodea and, old drainage pipes which serve as useful hidey holes for the ponds piscine inhabitants should predatory herons venture past the marginal reeds.
Obstacles removed I was able to use a freely sweeping action with the pond vacs nozzle, before restoring drainage pipe and elodea to their rightful place.
As the pond vac restarted, following discharge of the previous cylinder load, I became puzzled as to why the suction wasn't working, as the motor was uttering its reassuring purr of strength. Having switched off the power, I duly removed the suction nozzle and sundry extension tubes but, all were clear. Next task was to disconnect the coiled suction hose from the cylinder where I observed a dark gelatinous mass at the top, almost as if a giant slug had taken up residence there. A vigorous shake of the hose revealed all, as a full grown frog, encased in mud, slowly unfolded itself. A few minutes later it took its first tentative hop back towards the pond.
I hadn't realized quite how strong the machines suction power was!
Today I donned arm length waterproof gloves and fished around to unearth some of these obstructive items, micromesh planters full of slimy aquatic compost but little sign of plant growth, planters full of oxygenating elodea and, old drainage pipes which serve as useful hidey holes for the ponds piscine inhabitants should predatory herons venture past the marginal reeds.
Obstacles removed I was able to use a freely sweeping action with the pond vacs nozzle, before restoring drainage pipe and elodea to their rightful place.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Friday, March 05, 2010
A Primary Focus
Work, recreation, stimulation and inspiration; I am truly blessed in having my primary focus for all these activities right on my doorstep.
I've just spent another couple of hours intermittent labour in the garden, this morning. There was a time when most of the pruning and trimming back of plants and shrubs was a late autumn pre-occupation but, increasingly, since making the garden a much more wildlife friendly environment, many of these tasks have been transferred to this part of the year. The priority, now that the harshest weather has passed (hopefully), is to trim the hedges and shrubs before the nesting season gets into full swing. As I amble around, I can always spot another task to be performed and, it requires a conscious effort on my part to remember priorities.
Just a couple of years back many of these tasks would have remained unfulfilled, without the endeavours of my beloved, so it's with an immense sense of gratitude that I perform these chores, a sure sign that I am continuing, a few setbacks aside, in my remission from the most disabling aspects of my condition. Even 30% of my previous activity levels is a plateau I could have hardly dreamt of such a short while ago.
As I got down to pruning and lopping an overgrown hedge, a Robin determinedly accompanied me in my endeavours; whichever way I turned my avian friend was bobbing around. Needless to say, when I decided to reach for my camera the bird was nowhere to be seen; perhaps he's a little camera shy! Elsewhere in the garden, alongside an abundant squabble of starlings, blue tits, coal tits, blackbirds, house sparrows and dunnocks were taking advantage of the garden's various feeders.
I've got to be honest, I'd deluded myself into thinking (even in pre-illness days) that a wildlife area would require less maintenance than a more formal garden; it's a marvellous resource, even though my assumption was totally incorrect. When it comes to the more 'tame' borders of the garden, intrusive ground elder aside, the greatest scourge is the neighbourhood's 'domestic' cats; domestic they may be in terms of being someones household pets but they are a menace when it comes to scratching up bulbs and plants (but not in their own backyard). Electronic cat scarers prove ineffectual, pepper washes away far too quickly and, at times, I even begin to question the value of a few strategically placed thorn & briar branches. A spray of water is certainly effective, as is a loud "hiss" but, unfortunately 24 hour vigilance is impractical! Frustrations aside, I wouldn't swap the garden for anything; it proves a source of inspiration for both my painting and writing, as well as being a more general aid to relaxation.
As I sit and scribble down these notes, a red kite is circling low over the garden; I open the back door and, the variegated pattern of birdsong lifts my spirits. I rejoice and am glad in this day the Lord has made.
I've just spent another couple of hours intermittent labour in the garden, this morning. There was a time when most of the pruning and trimming back of plants and shrubs was a late autumn pre-occupation but, increasingly, since making the garden a much more wildlife friendly environment, many of these tasks have been transferred to this part of the year. The priority, now that the harshest weather has passed (hopefully), is to trim the hedges and shrubs before the nesting season gets into full swing. As I amble around, I can always spot another task to be performed and, it requires a conscious effort on my part to remember priorities.
Just a couple of years back many of these tasks would have remained unfulfilled, without the endeavours of my beloved, so it's with an immense sense of gratitude that I perform these chores, a sure sign that I am continuing, a few setbacks aside, in my remission from the most disabling aspects of my condition. Even 30% of my previous activity levels is a plateau I could have hardly dreamt of such a short while ago.
As I got down to pruning and lopping an overgrown hedge, a Robin determinedly accompanied me in my endeavours; whichever way I turned my avian friend was bobbing around. Needless to say, when I decided to reach for my camera the bird was nowhere to be seen; perhaps he's a little camera shy! Elsewhere in the garden, alongside an abundant squabble of starlings, blue tits, coal tits, blackbirds, house sparrows and dunnocks were taking advantage of the garden's various feeders.
I've got to be honest, I'd deluded myself into thinking (even in pre-illness days) that a wildlife area would require less maintenance than a more formal garden; it's a marvellous resource, even though my assumption was totally incorrect. When it comes to the more 'tame' borders of the garden, intrusive ground elder aside, the greatest scourge is the neighbourhood's 'domestic' cats; domestic they may be in terms of being someones household pets but they are a menace when it comes to scratching up bulbs and plants (but not in their own backyard). Electronic cat scarers prove ineffectual, pepper washes away far too quickly and, at times, I even begin to question the value of a few strategically placed thorn & briar branches. A spray of water is certainly effective, as is a loud "hiss" but, unfortunately 24 hour vigilance is impractical! Frustrations aside, I wouldn't swap the garden for anything; it proves a source of inspiration for both my painting and writing, as well as being a more general aid to relaxation.
As I sit and scribble down these notes, a red kite is circling low over the garden; I open the back door and, the variegated pattern of birdsong lifts my spirits. I rejoice and am glad in this day the Lord has made.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Who knows why the axe falls (this particular way)? - an impromptu rant
Seems like the Director-General of the BBC is determined to get rid of 6 Music and the Asian Network but, I'm still trying to get my head around the logic of these cuts. For a start, the cost of running 6 Music could all be covered by a couple of years of the kind of salary that the Beeb (over)paid certain self-important presenters. Perhaps some of these could be made to work for rather less obscene salaries.
If the argument is that they've to leave some leeway for the commercial stations then, it's strange that they decide to cut stations that are nowhere duplicated by the standard commercial station fare. Of course, if the BBC were to cut its more populist programmes that would provide fodder for those who've always resented the beeb, "just look, this poptastic commercial station is getting more listeners than R1/R2, why should we license payers be providing this less popular service?" At the same time, I suspect that most of the moguls (and would be moguls) in the commercial broadcasting field are only in favour of the kind of competition that leaves the public service broadcasters hands tied; they're all for competition as long as it's on their own terms!
One can't help feeling that much of the "mainstream" music output is little more than a promotional audio for the giant corporations of the music industry. Who decides to plug such and such "record of the week" or "album of the week"?
There is a suggestion that some of the "best" of 6 Music's output can be slotted into the Radio 2 schedule; is this a way of saying that there's a fair bit of dross to be cut out of Radio 2? What about Radio 3, after all Classic FM produces a (very) diluted version of much of it's music output, no suggestion of cutting that station though. I listen frequently to Radio 2, Radio 3, Radio 4, occasionally to 6 Music and Radio 7, so I've no particular axe to grind, I also frequently watch BBC2, BBC4, BBC1 and occasionally BBC3 and, I feel that an argument could be made for merging much of the output of BBC4 & BBC2 and even parts of BBC3 & BBC1 but, somehow television seems to be something of a sacred cow.
Come to think of it, much of the non-music output of Radio 3 would be equally at home on Radio 4 but, somehow, their demographic is of a social standing that the beeb's hierarchs are afraid of upsetting. Most of the musical output of Radios 1 & 2 is difficult to distinguish from that emanating from a plethora of commercial stations but, 6 Music rings the changes; there's a message here, "if you don't conform you're for the chop", a definite air of conservatism.
If the argument is that they've to leave some leeway for the commercial stations then, it's strange that they decide to cut stations that are nowhere duplicated by the standard commercial station fare. Of course, if the BBC were to cut its more populist programmes that would provide fodder for those who've always resented the beeb, "just look, this poptastic commercial station is getting more listeners than R1/R2, why should we license payers be providing this less popular service?" At the same time, I suspect that most of the moguls (and would be moguls) in the commercial broadcasting field are only in favour of the kind of competition that leaves the public service broadcasters hands tied; they're all for competition as long as it's on their own terms!
One can't help feeling that much of the "mainstream" music output is little more than a promotional audio for the giant corporations of the music industry. Who decides to plug such and such "record of the week" or "album of the week"?
There is a suggestion that some of the "best" of 6 Music's output can be slotted into the Radio 2 schedule; is this a way of saying that there's a fair bit of dross to be cut out of Radio 2? What about Radio 3, after all Classic FM produces a (very) diluted version of much of it's music output, no suggestion of cutting that station though. I listen frequently to Radio 2, Radio 3, Radio 4, occasionally to 6 Music and Radio 7, so I've no particular axe to grind, I also frequently watch BBC2, BBC4, BBC1 and occasionally BBC3 and, I feel that an argument could be made for merging much of the output of BBC4 & BBC2 and even parts of BBC3 & BBC1 but, somehow television seems to be something of a sacred cow.
Come to think of it, much of the non-music output of Radio 3 would be equally at home on Radio 4 but, somehow, their demographic is of a social standing that the beeb's hierarchs are afraid of upsetting. Most of the musical output of Radios 1 & 2 is difficult to distinguish from that emanating from a plethora of commercial stations but, 6 Music rings the changes; there's a message here, "if you don't conform you're for the chop", a definite air of conservatism.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
A Little Thermostatic Maladjustment
The night sweats seem to have returned with a vengeance; the suddenness with which the perspiration seeps from pores on head and torso always takes me by surprise. It makes little or no difference whether the bedroom is heated or unheated, the experience seems totally unrelated to the ambient temperature. I automatically throw off the bedclothes and, quite frequently, feel compelled to remove my pyjama jacket as it only serves to intensify the spasmodic gnawing discomfort emanating from the armpits.
Strangely, this thermostatic symptom bears little relation to my general state of well-(or otherwise)-being at the time of it's occurrence.
Strangely, this thermostatic symptom bears little relation to my general state of well-(or otherwise)-being at the time of it's occurrence.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Ringing The Changes and Staying The Same
Although my beloved has had the whole week off work, the primary benefit has been quite simply enjoying each other's company for rather longer periods than her usual work routine permits. Watching the occasional light-hearted DVD, whilst still abed in the morning, has helped make ma belle's time-off seem more like a holiday. For all we'd love to change the world, in terms of social justice and the far too prevalent inequalities, and have both been activists in the political arena, our own needs are quite simple and we thoroughly enjoy the privilege of being able to spend time together in our home and garden.
My stamina level isn't particularly brilliant at the moment and, an increased tenderness of glands beneath the chin and in the armpits, alongside aching spasmodically painful limbs, has done little to alleviate this far too familiar situation. Our only two expeditions of the week have been a visit to the garden centre at Otley and, yesterday, a visit to the local tax office to sort out my anomalous tax situation, paying tax on a small pension even though my total income is more than two grand below my personal allowance (the allowance having increased when I attained full senior citizen status last June).
The taxation problem seems to have arisen as the companies paying two minute pensions are allocated to different regional tax offices. Evidently the code duly allocated to one of the pension providers had never been issued! Hopefully, after the valiant efforts of the tax office staff in Harrogate, this problem has now been resolved! Late morning, we made a preliminary visit to the office and were able to arrange an appointment for the same afternoon. This allowed time for us to go back home, where I quickly concocted a spicy chicken risotto for our lunch before the appointed hour. It feels like quite an achievement to have made and kept this appointment as, ever since succumbing to M.E. back in 2003, pre-arranged appointments in town have contributed to panic attacks on top of other excruciating ailments. I even managed to enjoy a grocery shop at Waitrose before returning home!
The day's activities caught up with me later in the evening, as lower limbs painfully refused to be fully co-operative; a vice like griping pain, seemingly emanating from thigh and shin bones rather than the muscle, made traversing the room seem more akin to attempting to skip the light-fantastic at the 72nd hour of a dance marathon. Having emerged from my duvet cocoon at around 11.00am, by 10.00pm my head was exhaustedly floating, leadenly anchored, in a mercury bath. My beloved concernedly assisted my passage to the bedroom where I swiftly collapsed into sleep mode.
A relatively comfortable emergence, into this new day, has been assisted, in no small part, by the efficacious administration of tramadol hydrochloride to alleviate the griping spasms in limbs and torso. By the time I'd managed to remove myself from bed, and attained a degree of verticality, my beloved had already headed off to her volunteer duties at the Acorn Centre.
My stamina level isn't particularly brilliant at the moment and, an increased tenderness of glands beneath the chin and in the armpits, alongside aching spasmodically painful limbs, has done little to alleviate this far too familiar situation. Our only two expeditions of the week have been a visit to the garden centre at Otley and, yesterday, a visit to the local tax office to sort out my anomalous tax situation, paying tax on a small pension even though my total income is more than two grand below my personal allowance (the allowance having increased when I attained full senior citizen status last June).
The taxation problem seems to have arisen as the companies paying two minute pensions are allocated to different regional tax offices. Evidently the code duly allocated to one of the pension providers had never been issued! Hopefully, after the valiant efforts of the tax office staff in Harrogate, this problem has now been resolved! Late morning, we made a preliminary visit to the office and were able to arrange an appointment for the same afternoon. This allowed time for us to go back home, where I quickly concocted a spicy chicken risotto for our lunch before the appointed hour. It feels like quite an achievement to have made and kept this appointment as, ever since succumbing to M.E. back in 2003, pre-arranged appointments in town have contributed to panic attacks on top of other excruciating ailments. I even managed to enjoy a grocery shop at Waitrose before returning home!
The day's activities caught up with me later in the evening, as lower limbs painfully refused to be fully co-operative; a vice like griping pain, seemingly emanating from thigh and shin bones rather than the muscle, made traversing the room seem more akin to attempting to skip the light-fantastic at the 72nd hour of a dance marathon. Having emerged from my duvet cocoon at around 11.00am, by 10.00pm my head was exhaustedly floating, leadenly anchored, in a mercury bath. My beloved concernedly assisted my passage to the bedroom where I swiftly collapsed into sleep mode.
A relatively comfortable emergence, into this new day, has been assisted, in no small part, by the efficacious administration of tramadol hydrochloride to alleviate the griping spasms in limbs and torso. By the time I'd managed to remove myself from bed, and attained a degree of verticality, my beloved had already headed off to her volunteer duties at the Acorn Centre.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Anniversary Celebrations
Yesterday morning I was wide awake before 6.00AM, not just a little restless interlude, that had already occurred between 2.30 and 4.00AM. Like a young child on Christmas Day morning, my mind was buzzing with excitement, after all it's the dawn of a big day, our tenth wedding anniversary. Perhaps the fact that I'd spent much of the previous evening setting up my beloved's new laptop, my anniversary gift, and knowing that I still had one or two new programmes to install, had made my mind ultra-active. So frequently an active mind resists the ailing bodies need for sleep.
Anyway, back to 6.00AM; just what does one do when they're bright eyed (albeit none bushy tailed), bursting with an unfamiliar emotional energy whilst all too well aware that the limbs and torso are still screaming out for rest? Decided to pick up Diarmid MacCullough's 'A History of Christianity' for a little light reading but, a 1000+ page hardback tome proved difficult to handle from a semi-recumbent posture. Whilst the text proved exciting, wrists and thumbs were achingly struggling with the handling of the book. A couple of hours later, we decided to catch up with the previous night's episode of 'Material Girl, an episode full of romantic dilemmas, as we snuggled together au lit.
Come lunchtime we ventured down to 'Brio' Italian restaurant where I was pleased to see that my favourite item, a Linguine Marinara, was on the menu. The light sauce, a combination of of fish stock, tomato and chilli, was just perfect. My beloved settled for a fillet of sea bass with a generous vegetable accompaniment. Unfortunately, the house white was a disappointment, my nose and palate couldn't quite determine whether it came from a bottle that had been opened a little too long or stored beyond its best by date; it was still drinkable but quite dull, unlike what I'd enjoyed on previous visits. Desserts proved most satisfactory, ma belle settling for a dark chocolate mousse whilst I had the creme brulee.
Come early evening, the early start to my day paid me back with a vengeance as I felt shattered in both mind and body. Ninety minutes rest served to re-vitalize me a little and it wasn't too long before I was ready to open a bottle of fizz, Champagne Etienne Dumont NV. I was pleased that when we acquired the bottle, a few months ago, when it was on an half-price offer; it definitely wasn't worth any more than the price we'd paid, extremely average. Still it was the intent that mattered, imbibing the bubbles whilst watching a dvd of 'De-Lovely', we're both quite ardent devotees of Cole Porter songs.
This morning, my body clock still appeared to be in a state of confusion; this time I was quite wide awake by 4.00AM. At least I had the good sense to remain au lit for a sufficient period of rest. An unexpected surge of energy found me out in the garden before noon, secateurs in hand, for a mini tidying up exercise. An hour of this endeavour found my body crying out for a break and, after a brief seated respite, we headed out to Cafe Culture where we both enjoyed a light lunch of spiced chicken breast with mango chutney, served in naan bread, with a side salad and Thai yoghurt. The celebration of our anniversary continues as we bask in the pleasure of each other's company.
Anyway, back to 6.00AM; just what does one do when they're bright eyed (albeit none bushy tailed), bursting with an unfamiliar emotional energy whilst all too well aware that the limbs and torso are still screaming out for rest? Decided to pick up Diarmid MacCullough's 'A History of Christianity' for a little light reading but, a 1000+ page hardback tome proved difficult to handle from a semi-recumbent posture. Whilst the text proved exciting, wrists and thumbs were achingly struggling with the handling of the book. A couple of hours later, we decided to catch up with the previous night's episode of 'Material Girl, an episode full of romantic dilemmas, as we snuggled together au lit.
Come lunchtime we ventured down to 'Brio' Italian restaurant where I was pleased to see that my favourite item, a Linguine Marinara, was on the menu. The light sauce, a combination of of fish stock, tomato and chilli, was just perfect. My beloved settled for a fillet of sea bass with a generous vegetable accompaniment. Unfortunately, the house white was a disappointment, my nose and palate couldn't quite determine whether it came from a bottle that had been opened a little too long or stored beyond its best by date; it was still drinkable but quite dull, unlike what I'd enjoyed on previous visits. Desserts proved most satisfactory, ma belle settling for a dark chocolate mousse whilst I had the creme brulee.
Come early evening, the early start to my day paid me back with a vengeance as I felt shattered in both mind and body. Ninety minutes rest served to re-vitalize me a little and it wasn't too long before I was ready to open a bottle of fizz, Champagne Etienne Dumont NV. I was pleased that when we acquired the bottle, a few months ago, when it was on an half-price offer; it definitely wasn't worth any more than the price we'd paid, extremely average. Still it was the intent that mattered, imbibing the bubbles whilst watching a dvd of 'De-Lovely', we're both quite ardent devotees of Cole Porter songs.
This morning, my body clock still appeared to be in a state of confusion; this time I was quite wide awake by 4.00AM. At least I had the good sense to remain au lit for a sufficient period of rest. An unexpected surge of energy found me out in the garden before noon, secateurs in hand, for a mini tidying up exercise. An hour of this endeavour found my body crying out for a break and, after a brief seated respite, we headed out to Cafe Culture where we both enjoyed a light lunch of spiced chicken breast with mango chutney, served in naan bread, with a side salad and Thai yoghurt. The celebration of our anniversary continues as we bask in the pleasure of each other's company.
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