I’ve just spent the last two days in bed surrounded by a chaos of medicines, tissues, drinks, phone and laptop wires and a happy cat who doesn’t usually have someone to sleep on during the day. All of which has led me to realise just how divorced from real life fiction is. When did you last read a story where a major character had the flu?
Admittedly it’s hard to get involved in exciting action when your legs are made of jelly and your brain has turned to blancmange… It’s not easy to write blog posts either. Maybe flu’s absence from fiction indicates that it’s really not very interesting to anyone else.
Ah. Sorry about that, then. I’ll go back to bed now.