All day in bed, I am texting others who are in bed, who are all texting others in bed – and we’re comparing
Now is the winter of our discontent! After two years of plague, after a summer of torrential rain and flooding and more plague, after an autumn of mould and more rain and even more plague, comes the sickness.
It’s like singing a round. You meet someone who’s got it or is getting over it, then you get it and then the people you live with get it, and then you think you get over it but it returns to the start with a new variation of the old illness and everyone gets sick again. Tra-la-la …
Read the original article at The Guardian