On the mend. Hopefully.

I'm really lucky in that, more often than not, I'm in good health. Yes, I suffer from the odd bit of hayfever and have had a couple of interesting health experiences in the past, but normally not much gets me down.

This week was the exception.

Wednesday I first noticed something was awry and I suspected a cold. Went to the steam room, felt a lot better, pressed ahead with Thursday. Thursday was OK and although a gamble, I proceeded with an evening out - by the end of which said cold had made a definite come back. Friday was a joke (among other things I managed to call my boss not only by a name that wasn't his, but by a name that wasn't even the right gender. In an interview) and I crawled home about 4pm. No steam on Friday as it was boys-only night. Boo. Crawled into bed feeling very sorry for myself and hoping rest would do the trick.

Ha. As if. Woke up on Saturday feeling only marginally better - and definitely not of the magnitude I was expecting after a big ol' chunk of sleep. Dragged myself out of bed thinking from 10.30 it was boys only again. It wasn't. But I made it there, felt a bit better, then went on a "things that might make me better" spending spree before collapsing back home. Some "flu plus" tablets made the day tolerable but by 3pm it was clear that moving further than my little flat really wasn't going to happen - all remaining plans for the weekend got cancelled (which was a real shame but in reality the only option...other than going out, being really ill and potentially making others ill which, in my mind, isn't an option) and the day was spent on the sofa.

And on a brief aside, I'm now convinced this sofa was the best investment I've made, pound for pound. I love it. It makes my life better. It makes being ill better. It has scatter cushions and is deeper than your average sofa. It works in my living room and gives me a cosy corner. Ace.

So this morning. Woke up not as filled full of bung as I had been yesterday - but still feeling pretty wiped out. Part of me wants to get up and get on - part of me is still really tired and, mainly, worried about doing too much and ending up ill and pathetic again. Or am I being over-protective of myself? Oh, who knows.

More importantly, tho', why this whingey "I've been ill" epic? Because it's made me value my health and also recognise what I don't have. While out buying provisions yesterday (and moving around at snail's pace - which is always a good sign of an ill Tigger) the chap in front of me was purchasing similar bits and pieces for his "wife - she's got a bad case of Man Flu. Never seen her like this before". And yet there I was, trawling around the the bits myself. Cooking up potions on my return home (a further reinforcement of my state yesterday was, at the end of the day, realising I'd consumed a bulb of garlic without particularly noticing. This morning, doing some washing up, I certainly noticed the garlic. Crikey - definitely no vampires in this house). Hobbling off to bed. Urg.

The "good old days" of community and several generations of family living in one home in no way were perfect all the time - and I know if I was really really ill to the point of being unable to look after myself there are people I could call on or get myself to. But for that middle ground, that "I'd like someone to look after me but I'll survive if they don't" time, for then I just get my own company.

And actually, that's OK. It's a bit mis at times, but only fleetingly - and let's face it, yesterday I was more interested in distraction (hurrah for the internet and DVDs) than the ideal family unit. In fact, the pro was that although I was sadly unable to get to a friend's anniversary celebration I wasn't putting anyone else out. At least when I was cooking I didn't have to worry about providing for anyone else.

So really, it's just another reflection on my life - how I live it, and how it differs, or is the same, as the rest of the world.

Oh, and the fact that something really wasn't right if a cold wiped me out like this! And there was me thinking I wasn't all that tired... go self-awareness, Tigs.

Life's better by bike...

 ...and by the sea, of course. I'm not cycling much at the moment. Cycling has always been a means to an end (or more specifically, a destination) and just now my destinations are either close enough for walking or too far to be enjoyable or desireable by bike, or involving lots of hills. Often a combination of the aforementioned. So by strange providence (the foibles of Sunday morning trains) it was that I found myself leaving dear little Hafilax abode with Billy in tow and freewheeling down the hill to the station. Mhaaaaaarvellous.

But what I hadn't quite anticipated was how brilliant it would be to be with bicycle when I got off the train this evening into the gloaming of a threatening cloudy sky in Morecambe. It's trying to rain – I'm sitting on the prom ignoring it (and hoping my laptop does too). It's certainly grey and cloudy. But it also shows promise of the sun that's behind. And let's face it, when it's still positively light (no need for bike lights in the slightest) at nine in the evening, anything goes.

Yet again I was floored by the seascape here. The tide is about half way out, the pools of water (seawater? Rain? Both?) still lingering on the flats. My little patch of sand distinctly orange against the dark grey of the rocks, the steel blue of the sea and the lush green of the reeds and other plants which have found shelter form the tides in the “cove” that's just by my house. Above, the many greys of the clouds – from almost white to blue, dark greys, light greys and all greys in between. The muted colours of the shores of Cumbria on the other side. The red of the prom between me and the beach.

I have never understood why this seems to be such a hidden treasure in plain sight. This being the views from Morecambe out across the bay. As I sit here on a mild July evening I can see one other soul. I've had a dog walker pass and a couple out for a walk who were behind the seawall!) but overall the prom is deserted. The cars continue to go to and fro on the road behind me but this view seems forgotten by all.

It always takes my attention. Draws me in. Shows me a new view – the constantly changing sea and sky and ambience. But here I am getting distracted from bicycles...

So yes, bicycles. I think I need more bicycling in my life. Not huge amounts, but just a bit more. Perhaps I need to overcome my anti-hill stance (might help while living in a valley. Shame I can't just up sticks to Morecambe more permanently at the moment – seaside is flat!) or perhaps I just need to get clever about routes. Whichever way I look at it, I really do enjoy the feeling of the freedom of a bicycle.

But moreover I enjoy, nay adore the freedom and liberation I get from staring at Morecambe Bay. Absolutely mesmerising. Even more so when I find myself tired and my brain running on empty. The best way to enjoy something which fundamentally words cannot describe.

Today's most interesting revelation about the bay, however, is about my enjoyment of it. Somehow I can sit here and drink it in for so much longer when my company is but my own. I love sharing this view with friends but somehow feel there then has to be something to Do. Be it a coffee or a cocktail, I somehow find myself pulled away from the simplicity of sitting gazing at the sea. Why that would be escapes me somehow. Possibly my own insecurities about “entertaining” friends when they come to visit. Perhaps they simply won't enjoy gazing at the sea. A misplaced view of what other people enjoy? Or something else entirely. I don't know. But an interesting one to mull on.