I went to London last weekend to say good-bye to a friend. On my return Etihad flight Sunday afternoon, I grew increasingly alarmed at the state of the cabin around me. It was filled with hacking, coughing, sniffling, sneezing, wheezing – what do you call that thing where people are snorting, but with that gross sound at the back of their throat? Old men do it. ANYWAY – and just generally grossly sick people. It was like an orchestra of germs.
All that to say I started to feel sick about halfway through the flight and things deteriorated from there. When I woke up the next morning, flu. Then bronchitis. Etc. Just wanted to explain the radio silence. It was not, thankfully, due to any backlash from the fork finger. (Although admittedly, I did go out on a limb a bit on that one)
My colleagues at work won't want to hear this, but I have made it through season four of How I Met Your Mother (may I recommend that show? Warmly funny, often clever, it is Friends for the 2010s) and am up-to-date on Private Private Practice, Grey's Anatomy and all things E! and Oprah. Between naps and two plane rides I also plowed about 2/3 of the way through the 12kgs of magazines that were previously haunting me.
Thank you for your nice comments – Verdi and Anonymous, I mean you. I have loads to write about, including a surprise Santa flash mob in London, Dr Fatema Vahidy, the Best Doctor in the World™, the merits of fresh pomegranate juice, a strange ayurvedic medicine called Peyawa and, as always, general Abu Dhabi silliness.