Phlegm, what a great word.

It's very rare that I feel sick or under the weather but, for the last 5 days, I have been at rock bottom. It's quite normal, after the departure of the last guests, that I slip into a mild, sometimes deep, bout of depression for a week or so but this is different. It could easily be mistaken for a common cold with the usual symptoms of headaches, runny nose, sore throat and lethargy but I know this is something far worse. I have been struck down by the dreaded "man cold".

On Monday I tried to toast it out of me, spending the day huddled in front of a log fire wrapped in fleecy blankets. It was to no avail, however I did invent chocolate orange toast in the morning which put small smile on my face. Just the thought of nutella and marmalade on the same slice of toast would make some peoples stomachs turn but all I can say is don't knock it till you've tried it.

Yesterday I opted for another recognised cure, sweating it out. I spent 3 hours taking down the old fence around the pig enclosure and by the end of it I was sweating buckets. I followed this up with a hot shower, another rarity for me before getting comfy by the fire again. I've also been getting well drugged up although one of the drugs Jane sorted for me has a nasty side effect on my taste buds as both bottles of wine I drank last night tasted vile and I could barely taste the calvados I had as a night cap.

So far today I've been coughing loads and have a legitimate use for the word "phlegm", one of my favourites. If only I had the right letters when I was playing scrabble. More drugs, ready brek for breakfast and buckets of tea and coffee should be adequate for todays battle against the evil "man cold".

Just as a side line, on Sunday I knocked out a mexican favourite "churros" like a doughnut stick but a little daintier. Hence the picture at the top.