Wednesday, January 15, 2014

I live on good soup, not on fine words.

So says Moliere. And me, I'm afraid. 

My nasty Christmas flu has turned into pneumonia. Here I am, back in bed, sipping soup and tea and antibiotics. I admit, I never felt 100% better. But I did manage to have the most lovely time in Paris. And now I guess I'm paying for those wine soaked, cheese filled, walks in the drizzle, days and nights. Le sigh. 

In bed. Doctor's orders. That chicken soup heating on the stove...