I’m sick, genuinely sick. Not’ I don’t want to work, so lets pretend the rash I got from a facial is an illness’ sick, but hard core ‘flu’ sick. The reason I know this is becuase I am not taking it as an excuse to eat all the foods usually forbidden to me. Normally nothing short of death would stop me eating. When I was disgnosed with a gut parasite picked in India which turned everything that passed my lips to quickly passed liquid, I immediatly went out and bought a party pack of snickers.The parasite busting antibiotics were SO second on the list. But no, now I am reduced to small bowls of soup and chocolate rice.

And Paris in spring is a crap city to be sick in. You know how sometimes when you’re sick it can be lovely to have the excuse to curl up under the duvet and watch the Sex And The City box set. Not so here, I know there are better things I could be doing.I know that if I were not sick and happened instead to be walking along the Pont Neuf at the moment the Eiffel Tower started to scintillate, I would so bump filmically into the love of my life. But no, instead I am curled up in sweaty tangle of sheets, surrounded by plastic rice cartons and snotty bogroll , watching ‘funniest commercials ever’ on ‘Youtube’.

Funnily enough the one good thing about being sick is the internet and Facebook. Before when I’d get ill, I’d ring my mum, manipulate a bit of sympathy out of her for a while and then malinger on alone in self pity.With Facebook however I have tapped into a wonderful well of FB Mummys offering loads of advice and well wishes for my getting better. And actually, one of the guys I have met on my internet dating site has proved the best giver of sympathy and checks in every couple of hours to see if I am okay. Is this kind of strange, that someone I haven’t actually exchanged a spoken word with, is perhaps the most diligent and concerned that I won’t die and be eaten by my neightbours cat? Well I note mother hasn’t rung in today so we will take our sympathy where we can get it.