where’s my mask?

I can’t be getting a cold, I just can’t! People will think I’m a swine-flu hypochondriac (aching bones, sore throat, wooly-headed).

If you’ve not read this account of swine-flu quarantine, you should.
I just can’t imagine how much everyone at Marie Celeste would fête the employee who came down with swine flu and caused us to be quarantined. There’d be much rejoicing, and, I’m certain, giftage!

============ my cold-addled brain cannot remember what I was using for a spacer, so that will have to suffice.

Don and I ventured to the shops this morning to buy Bessie a new maths set (compass, set square, protractor and the like – you’d think there would be a variety to chose from, but you’d be wrong) and were sidetracked at Dymocks. From not being able to find any books by my boyfriend anywhere locally in January, now there is a veritable glut of Nige at Dymocks! Yay!

I acquired “Eating for England” – which I’ve been coveting for a time.

After we arrived home, it was time for …

Sunday brekkie:

Bessie pancakes, Mummy smoked bacon, camp maple syrup.

Happy pancake, by Bessie.


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