Or, at least, reports of my death are highly exaggerated.
I am finally home from my misadventures on the continent. As souveniers from my travels, I have 11 blisters on my feet, a respiratory infection, a head cold (likely the cause of the respiratory infection), partial deafness, and hives. I’m sure this is indicative of successful travel, somehow.
I have spent the last three days sleeping a lot, trying to keep well hydrated, and watching movies on my laptop. Hopefully, as I begin to feel more human, stories from my adventures will be forthcoming. It has been a very full month–something my now disease-riddled body can attest to.
Dundee is as covered in snow as when I left it two weeks ago. Only now, the six or so inches of fluffy white on the sidewalks has been packed down to three or four inches of uneven, treacherously slippery ice. Apparently they don’t believe in salting the pavements here.
Ilya is coming up for dinner. I am going to make tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, as soon as I can find the motivation to move. Tomorrow I will boil up the five or so chicken carcasses that have been languishing in the freezer and make chicken stock, some of which I am intending to drink as soon as it is finished.
I resolve to go out as little as possible until I am feeling better (which I hope is soon–I had never realized how much I rely on my hearing for just about everything). To facillitate this resolve to not go out, I am having Tesco deliver my groceries tonight, sometime between 9 and 11 pm. I am very glad to be back in the UK, where grocery stores are open on Sundays, and internet is easy to locate. There really is something to be said for convenience.