TB or not TB

I’ve studied a bit of literature in my life, and I found it strangely romantic and picturesque that an alarmingly large number of writers and artists in the Victorian era died of consumption. But I’m weird like that. When I first fell in love with literature and thought I might want to start writing, I always imagined that after many years of being an unsuccessful impoverished writer, I would eventually contract consumption and be asked to spend a lot of time by the sea, being weak and disillusioned.

Sadly, science came in the way of my ambition. We have so many ‘cooler’ ailments now. Stress-related vertigo and posture-related backaches are my personal picks for Generation Vexed. And neither has resulted in the doctor advising me a decade’s rest by a calm grey sea.

What I am trying to say in this rambling comatose-inducing manner, is one of the two have kept me from being of any use to this blog, over the past week. And if you’ve followed this blog, you’ll know which it is. For now, I promise to try and get someone else to fill you in on last night’s happenings. And for the large large number of you who are no doubt feeling faint with worry regarding my health, here are some smelling salts. I have bought a hot water bag and some new reading material to see me through countless hours of lying around in bed.

I will be back soon.