Cold, cold, cold…

It was inevitable, I suppose, that after two weeks of sub-zero temperatures and blizzards in Dordogne  (as well as across Europe) that I would finally succomb to a common cold. A miserable common cold.

It has been averaging minus ten at night (in Fahrenheit that’s minus fourteen) and barely creeping over freezing during daylight.

I made the error last weekend of attempting to paint in the other house.

Big mistake.

I did have a small electric heater, and the powerful spotlight left in place by the plumber does put out a lot of heat. But I froze every inch of my poor old body and the paint turned icy as I slapped it on the wall.

Fetching firewood requires going in and out of the warm house into arctic weather. My constitution - normally hardy – never bears fluctuating temps, so here I am… miserable.

For three days I have endured pounding headaches, an alternating runny and/or completely stuffed nose, a sore throat – and my eyes feel like two hot coals that are slowly burning their way through an itchy wool blanket.

What to do?

Nothing.

Stay in bed as much as possible, drink lots of water, smear Chapstick on your parched lips, stuff menthol-laced Vasoline up your nose. Sneeze, hack, cough, take aspirin, go through two boxes of tissues – and try not to look at yourself in the mirror.

Arcadio is smarter: he has barely ventured out-of-doors, preferring to look at the snowy landscape from perches on the windowsills.

If only he could fetch firewood, learn to paint with his tail…