I went into work on Thursday morning and was home again by the afternoon.
I knew before I went in that I was unfit for work but I wanted everyone to see that. I was, frankly, embarrassed by having had nearly a fortnight's holiday and then taking time off for illness. It is the sort of thing that our unemployed customers do and provoke looks of disbelief from the staff.
So, I went in and everyone said how dreadful I looked. And I told Jill how I didn't want to be compared to our customers and she poo-poo'ed the idea but now she can have no lingering doubts.
I also cleared a few things off my desk and made arrangements to bring work home with me so that I could sign off Thursday afternoon and today as project work time even if I actually do the work over the rest of the weekend.
Nevertheless, I made sure that I did some work on Friday morning and emailed my achievements into Connect so that my colleagues could see that they were actually going to get some results in return for their trust.
And as well as doing the work, I have been tending to myself buying in more medication, lying in bed, listening to talking books (oh my, Crime and Punishment is a strange and strangely written work), taking warm baths, visiting the shops, cooking wholesome food and letting uplifting music fill me with joy.
As well as sitting by my computer, which, by the way, is now operated by the miracle of Windows 7, I've been making sure that I have gotten out of the house. Whilst I certainly have cold and flu-like symptoms, I do not want to add agoraphobic panic and melancholia to them.
It was timely then that one of my old yoga class companions emailed me to remind me of a Thursday night class which is held every week near the Plaza cinema. I must go. It is time to start reclaiming a healthy body once more.
In local news, our nearest shopping street, College Road, is to suffer two more closures as two of the clothes shops have announced that they are terminating their business. Times must be very tight for these small shop-keepers.
For the past few years, we've bought out Christmas trees from the greengrocers down that road. This year, they are not selling any. They say that the quality of what they have seen is not good and is highly priced so they are stepping out of the market because they don't want to deal with complaints and they don't want to be left with a lot of duff stock that they can't shift.
I suspect that the final item in that catalogue is the clincher. The margins must be very tight on that sort of business for a lot of time and effort. I think that they believe that it's just not worth the all the hassle for the amount of risk involved.
So, it was with some delight that I happened upon a very lovely Christmas tree outside one of the shops in Crosby this afternoon. At £25, I pounced. That's a saving of £10 over last year's tree and it looks significantly nearer to the size and shape that we require.
I'm dead chuffed with it and I was quite pleased that I caused a small stir by walking home with a Christmas tree over my shoulder. I am delighted that I now have the energy to do so. I couldn't have done that on Wednesday even.
In the wider world, the American-based book chain Borders has gone into receivership. I remember when the first one opened on Oxford Street back in the mid-1990s. It was hailed as revolutionary. You could buy newspapers there, you could buy CDs, you could buy DVDs, you could buy posters. It was new, it was dot.com and it was American. It was like being a part of the Friends ethos. My erstwhile colleague, Jack, spoke rapturously about being able to browse books and drink coffee at 7 o' clock at night. I just felt that he was very sad; I had better things to be doing at that time of night.
And now they are gone. Like the hundreds of small independent book sellers up and down the country who have been forced to close because they could not compete, they themselves are now the victim of market forces which say that people do not want to drive miles to an out of town shopping park to buy a book and drink a cup of coffee. I cannot shed a tear.
And one final thing to not. I just learnt that Annie Lennox is 54. This is fabulous but it makes me feel really old. Even though I am only one year older than her, I feel as though the gap is nearer to ten years. And I'm not ready to be that old quite yet.