Heat

Clive church.  Look, not a cloud in the sky

We've been lapping up the sunshine over the last few days.  Sis No 3 is back in blighty for a bit so we took antoher trip to Hadnall Country Gardens and drove about for a while enjoying the views including Grinshill and Clive (see above) and Moreton Corbett Castle (see below).

Oops, didn't mean for photo to include an acre of mud.  Must work on my framing.

Today we had lunch in the garden courtesy of Sis no 2 and her sainted husband (who puts up with more than we will ever know) supervised by their stripey-faced cat.

This is natural.  No paint involved.

But while all this sunshine has been very welcome, both Cyril and I have suffered from some unwelcome warmth.  We've both had high temperatures.  Despite banishing the germy other-half to the spare room I still managed to catch his cold.  One of the delights of chemo is that it lowers your resistance to infections and, if you do get an infection, it can take hold rapidly and you can ending up spending several days in hospital.  The chemo nurses and the oncologist have been at pains to point out that if my temperature goes up to 37.5 for half-an-hour I must phone the hospital.  Well on Thursday night I really didn't feel well and my temperature reached 37.6 (at which point the themometer sounded an alarm - as if I wasn't panicked enough already).  Over the course of the next twenty minutes my temperature went down to around 37.2 and down a bit further over the next couple of hours.  So I managed to avoid a trip to the hospital but it was touch and go for a while and I was a fretful bunny (having heard lots of stories of people feeling a bit unwell one minute and ending up being barrier nursed in hospital the next).  Chemo has obviously not impaired my imagination nor my ability to be a drama queen.

Cyril was much braver about his bout of illness.  He went off his food again and was a bit listless.  Once we got him to the vets he regained some of his omph when we tried to get him out of the cat box.  The vet opened the door of the box and actually stood the box on its end and shook it.  Cyril managed to brace his three legs against the sides in such an arrangement that he was wedged in.  The vet was impressed with his determination.  Anyway the diagnosis was that there was nothing too much wrong, a slight temperature (and before you ask no I do not share a thermometer with the cat) and a bit of a gassy tummy.  He seems much better now and is back noshing as normal.

Finally, my mate F brought my attention to Isaac's wedding proposal.  I think this is doing the rounds at the moment but if you haven't seen it click here.  It may be no great shakes that it reduced me to (happy) tears as I cry at everything at the moment but I showed the other-half and there was definite eye-leakage.  In fact he had to compose himself and wait for his eyes to be less red before he could go outside to work on the front garden.  So if you watch it and aren't moved you are officially a hard-hearted Hannah or Harry.  Happy weeping.