It’s all London’s fault…
NOTE: I owe an apology to Ichabod Temperance, the author of the book I was supposed to review this week. But actually, I blame London. I’d gone down from Scotland because the UMAG* was visiting. If only she had agreed to stay in town with me, but unfortunately the UMAG seems to feel that as an infant, she should hang out with her parents, who were staying in the suburbs. (*Universe’s Most Adorable Grandbaby)
THAT meant we were all outside of London when the rail strike hit.
THAT meant we had to take a hire car into the city to make my train departure time from Kings Cross.
THAT meant every other car in London had to drive at speeds clocking considerably below those of advancing glaciers and/or (with surprising frequency) into each other, snarling traffic.
THAT meant that I had to run to catch the train at the very last second. (Me. Running. Could not end well…)
THAT meant that when I got to my seat at the very end of the platform for a train long enough to be halfway to Scotland by the time it left the station, it was already occupied by a screaming toddler.
THAT meant that when his mother offered to hold the thrashing child whose screams were approaching decibels more appropriate to nuclear alert sirens—did I mention that this was supposedly the quiet car?—I didn’t have enough breath left to do anything but gasp, “No worries. I’ll find other seat.”
And THAT, dear readers, meant that the only other available seat on the sold-out train was next to a gentleman who had a nonverbal message for me.
“I will be taking you to the bed. I will make you moan, and shake, and sweat, and groan. You will be reduced to a pathetic shell, a wreck. You will plead with me to stop but I have no mercy.” —his man-flu germs.
Yes, my new seatmate spent the next five hours making sincere and concerted attempts to cough up a few spare internal organs, whilst snorting enormous quantities of mucus back up into his nasal cavities.
We exchanged very few actual words, but the the tea trolley guy was sympathetic when my seatmate said his wife was going to their daughter’s recital instead of coming to meet his train, so he would have to take the bus. [More pointed coughing that put Mimi dying from La Bohème consumption to shame.]
By the next afternoon, I was running a fever and my throat hurt. By morning, everything else hurt and alarming gastrointestinal events had joined the party. But I’m a professional. I wasn’t going to let a little thing like imminent death stop me from writing that blog post. Well, that didn’t stop me. But those three whisky hot toddies sure did.
So yeah. All London’s fault.
Please. Come back tomorrow for my review of Ichabod Temperance’s steampunk epic series. I promise I won’t breathe on you. But I’ll make you a hot toddy.
MOTHER’S HOT TODDY RECIPE
2 Tablespoons whisky. (You should probably put some into the cup too…)
Juice of one lemon**
Honey (generous dollop)
Boiling water to fill cup
**There are people who put in orange slices studded with whole cloves and stir with a cinnamon stick. There are also people who order mixed drinks with little umbrellas. You know who you are.
Mary Smith said:
I don’t ‘like’ that you are not well but I enjoyed reading your post. Hope you will be better soon – keep taking the toddies. And well done for dropping that e from whisky! You’ll soon be a true Scot.
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barbtaub said:
That missing ‘e’ was all for you!
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The Story Reading Ape said:
I hope this post goes viral Barb – misery loves company LOL
Be sure to continue the treatment for several weeks after all flu symptoms have gone (just to be sure you understand) 😃🍷🍾💐🍫🍰💤
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barbtaub said:
Goes viral…Bwahahah! But I appreciate your medical advice. Better sloshed than sorry or something like that.
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The Story Reading Ape said:
LOLOL
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ichabod2014ic said:
Oh my Goodness, Barb, you poor thing.
Bless your heart.
Don’t you worry about me, Ma’am, you just take care of yourself.
And if I see that inconsiderate fellow on the train I’ll bop his beak!
Your pal,
~Icky. 🙂
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barbtaub said:
Thanks for understanding.
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Rosie Amber said:
Oh poor you, get well soon.
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barbtaub said:
Thanks Rosie! (The worst part about getting sick is how boring it is. My poor dog keeps bringing me her ball, because who wouldn’t feel better for a little ball play?)
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Cathy said:
Hope you feel much better very soon 😷 and take plenty of alcohol to kill the germs 😉
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barbtaub said:
Yes, Dr. Cathy.
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Vanessa-Jane Chapman said:
Nope, can’t see any reason at all why you weren’t still able to read and review that book! 🙂
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barbtaub said:
I’m obviously a complete wuss.
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Ellen Hawley said:
Re London traffic: It moves at the same speed it did in Roman times, when it involved horses and feet.
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barbtaub said:
I’m fairly certain that going by foot would have been quicker. (Possibly also true in Roman days.)
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Ellen Hawley said:
It’d make an interesting race.
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Kassandra Lamb said:
Only you, Barb, can make catching the flu sound funny. Hope you’re feeling better soon. Hugs!
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barbtaub said:
Thanks! I think…
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Elyse said:
Grandparents obviously sacrifice much more than parents. Hope it has, ummm, passed.
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barbtaub said:
My voice has taken a plunge into much deeper registers. The Hub is hoping it lasts a bit longer…
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Wendy Janes said:
Hope you’re feeling better soon, Barb. Very impressed at your ability to craft such a witty blog post while feeling under the weather.
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tric said:
Aw no. But Hahahaha great read. A few more toddies sand you’ll be grand.
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noelleg44 said:
Nice of your seat mate to share. Hope you’re feeling better, Barb. You can use rum instead of whiskey in that hot toddy!
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Paul said:
Oh Barb, you poor soul. You need a good rest – and the remainder of that bottle of whisky. Medicinal alcohol is popular around here in our snowy, slushy, cold climate.
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Paul said:
As an aside Barb, I just did a guest post over at Mark Bialczak’s. I would be honored if you had the time to drop by for a read. https://markbialczak.com/2016/05/22/no-violins/comment-page-1/#comment-79841 Thank You.
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patriciaruthsusan said:
Sorry to hear you’re not feeling well. I hope you’re better soon. Thanks for the recipe. 🙂 — Suzanne
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TanGental said:
Of course, Barb, I’m terribly sorry you were polluted on the train. I wish you a speedy recovery. But on behalf of the most perfect city in the universe, the man was going to Scotland. London certainly didn’t want him. Clearly he was being banished for trying to poison Eldorado. Statistically you probably caught the germ somewhere around Durham which is where the blame should probably lie. And his destination was where? Edinburgh? From whence he probably came. Nuff said.
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Grab the Lapels said:
Did you get to see the UMAG, or did his/her parents’ stick you in quarantine?
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