Today, I returned to work after a two week break. So yesterday - my body reacting to its embedded allergy at the concept of work - I developed a stinking cold and spent much of the day moping around, downing Diet Coke and making woeful eyes at patient P.
It was all rather unfortunate as Mrs M had come to stay for the weekend, but we had a good time anyway. She appeared on Friday morning (interrupting my new favourite TV show, "Homes Under The Hammer") to drop off her case, and reappeared in the evening when P and I met her in Fitzrovia for dinner at Chez Gerard and then to go to the Drill Hall to listen to a few recordings of Radio 4's "The Wright Stuff", which was more entertaining than I'd expected. Sebastian "Birdsong" Faulks, eh? Who knew he had a decent sense of humour?
On Saturday, Mrs M and I took a trip down memory lane by going to Portobello Market. (Memory lane for me, since I spent four years living nearby; and memory lane for her, since she spent much of the '60s hanging out there when it was far cooler than it is now). My current favourite thing about Portobello? Tamara Fogle (Ben's sister) who sells handbags.
Yesterday, we managed to stumble five minutes round the corner to Tate Britain, where I sneezed, coughed and spluttered my way round a few Francis Bacon's and John Piper's, before giving up and and coming back to the flat to cook lunch for Mum before she got her train... which allowed me to retreat to bed and watch "The Dreamers" on DVD. I'd read the book a few years ago and deemed it "OK-I-suppose", but the film left much to be desired. Unlike "Cocktail", which the ever-reliable Channel Five saw fit to screen last night and proved just the tonic. Hurrah for Tom Cruise.
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