It started over Christmas, which we spent up in Northumbria with Younger Daughter, who already had a cold but was coping with it very well. By Boxing Day, Keith was shopping for his usual cold remedies but didn't really begin to feel ill until Sunday, just in time to welcome in the new year.
And that was it. 2019 began in a blaze of tissues and Lemsips. We certainly know how to live it up, you know.
But there are more goodies to look forward to. In the middle of the month, I am booked in for a procedure (as in little operation) on my left eye to sort out my glaucoma, which is not responding well enough to the usual treatment of eye drops, and this will be followed by the right eye a few weeks later. As I am more than a little squeamish about anything to do with eyes, I have been trying not to think about that, but it has been looming on the periphery of my consciousness nevertheless. I suppose 'quietly terrified' would sum it up.
So all in all, I can completely relate to a post that I saw this afternoon, suggesting that maybe January could be a practice run and the year could really start in February. Yes, I'm all for that ... please ...?