Yesterday I got to school only to be so ill that I had to go home again.
The following is a brief encounter with my brain in the time between being told I had to go home and actually going home because I haven’t been given a key and had to wait five hours to be picked up.
‘As I write this entry I am lying in a bed at the nuns’ house. There is a scratchy blanket that is very warm, a huge wardrobe, a sink, a chest of drawers and a desk. The head nun has just brought me some tea and paracetamol which she has left on the bedside table I forgot to mention.
I am here because I’m not very well. I will have to sit my Spanish family down at some point and explain that I am a man and I quite need a set of keys for such occurrences as this. I want my freedom, much like Catalonia.’
Today I have been left in the house under strict instruction to take my temperature and have an ibuprofen if it’s too high.
I have now spent twenty-four hours in bed which has been incredibly boring. I am feeling slightly better but I am now taking antibiotics for a throat infection.
On a brighter note, the weather looks lovely today, it’s just a shame I can’t enjoy it.
I had no pancakes yesterday and I very much doubt I’ll be doing much for valentines day.
Heart-shaped pancakes are welcomed, I have looked and they are not too expensive to post.
Please address envelopes to:
The sick man of Spain