Every now and again I go and do something that I know is bad for me. Excessive drinking, a large breakfast, climbing a hill, that kind of thing. I have raised the bar this time however, and am suffering from a monumental bout of man flu. Mrs L has had it too, and is a few days ahead of me. I was extremely sympathetic as you can imagine. Do you think any of that sympathy has been returned? Do you?
I was doing well at avoiding it, and then my son persuaded me to wade in a river. In late December. In Scotland. The Highlands of Scotland. The idea was simple, place the camera directly in front of the waterfall, take a lovely photo. Fine. But I had no waders, or better still, a wet suit. In the event I stripped off to my boxers and waded in. By god it was cold. By the time I got out I could honestly not feel my feet. I could have walked over broken glass and not flinched. After that it was only a matter of time before I succumbed, and as I type this from back home in London I can truly say I have not felt this bad for ages. I am supposed to be going to work tomorrow, but I doubt that will happen.
Rarely do I get ill, but this is a proper nasty one. Serve me right though. Was it worth it? Probably not. The light was dreadful and even catchy positioning cannot rectify that. My son jumped in after me. He remains fit as a fiddle. There is no justice.