I've been ill for a few weeks. I brought back some nasty little bacteria from my holiday in the Canaries and they ran riot in my gut. I got to know my toilet very well - too well, in fact - since I seemed to spend a lot of time cleaning it. Not to mention washing my hands, which are now a nice red colour - not suntanned, just scrubbed raw by anti-bacterial wash.
The advice from my GP was to drink plenty fluids, eat toast and clear soup (I'm Scottish - I don't do clear soup) and avoid dairy. I spent a fortune on Imodium which, I was shocked to learn, retails at 60p for one tablet. No volunteering (my clients are very aged and all have underlying health conditions), no family visits in case I passed anything on (they're all ill now - that has nothing to do with me but is a result of a winter that just goes on and on), no trips to the shops, no lunches or coffees. I even missed a wee wine session with an old friend. Also missed a trip to the dentist for a filling - well, nothing is all bad - and have had to put off my hair appointment for so long I'll soon need kirby grips if I'm to see anything at all.
To start with I was too ill to worry about how to pass the time. Doing a Homer Simpson, I found myself saying out loud at 5 one morning: 'Just let me sleep - why won't you let me sleep?' But then I began to get better. I still had no concentration so reading was a challenge. New Statesman took an Easter break - luckily - and I got very annoyed with Time magazine's obsession with China and its insistance on regarding South America as its backyard, denying that Salvador Allende's death had owt to do with the US or that Hugo Chavez might have been acting in the interests of the people of Venezuela, so much so I threw my copy across the room and phoned to cancel my subscription. Don't mess with me, USA.
For the first time ever, my Lovefilm subscription went bad: I spent 2 weeks without a film over the Easter weekend. I turned to the telly. Usually, I record programmes I like the look of and watch them at my leisure. Sky Arts is good, as are BBC4. C4 and Nat Geo. The only programmes I watch 'live' are the news and quizzes - and my guilty pleasure, Doctors. Now I was watching whatever was on.
Seriously, has it always been this bad? I seem to remember my bro-in-law once saying: 800 channels on Sky - all crap. You can include Virgin in that assessment.
I tried Criminal Minds. Stupid. CSI - also stupid and the various franchises seem to be swapping storylines and even characters. Does Ted Danson dye his hair? - that colour is surely not one found in nature. NCIS - that Tony guy needs a good slap. In despair, I turned to new series. Revolution took American paranoia to new heights. Stereotype characters, bad acting. Psych, Warehouse 13, Special Victims' Unit - oh, come on, be serious.
On UK tv - let's not kid ourselves: the only programme I'm still watching after a month is Broadchurch.
I've caught up with Shaun the Sheep series 1-3 and Japanese animated movies from the Gible studio. A movie connoisseur of my acquaintance has passed me documentaries and British films I've never heard of, let alone seen. So far so good.
But I can see why people go for illegal downloads of new movies. And I'm lucky: I don't have to rely on terrestrial telly and I can supplement cable with Lovefilm and swops with mates.
A relative once told me there are people in Glasgow (and no doubt elsewhere) who spend money they can't really afford on satellite tv because they don't feel safe going out at night. Poor quality tv is an issue for them. If they're on 'benefits', they may be feeling the squeeze even more at the moment.
Things I learned during my illness:
- the Canaries have nothing to do with wee burds.
- everything in the supermarket contains either cheese or milk. If I thought a gluten-free diet was bad,
dairy-free is nearly impossible. Soya milk is disgusting. It also clogs the drain when you try to pour it away.
- the quickest way to lose 22lbs in a month is to get some rogue bacteria in your gut. You won't die of it but you'll wish you could.
- there is something worse than New Statesman's Easter break: the New Statesman centenary edition. 180 pages with just 2 things worth reading: a short story by Ali Smith and the story of the tapestry depicting the history of Scotland by Alexander McCall Smith. Spot the link.
Finally, a test: whose catchphrase (admittedly, he had a lot) was 'There's nothing on the telly!'
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