Blossom: Days Twenty-three to Twenty-five, not so wonderful

Bleah.

Tuesday 23 to Thursday 15 Frocktober

Outfit/s

• Combo of factory clothes and comfy not-well clothes incorporating Ancient Cardigan Stained With Horlicks.

 Menu

• Breakfast - usual
• Lunch - usual
• Dinner - I dunno ... salad mainly.

Mood

• Sick

Still got headache. Got body aches and pains. Random bits of body taking turns to rebel in strange ways.

Artist's impression.

Tried to return to the factory for a morning but my jolly hockey-sticks can-do attitude failed me around lunchtime. Home I went.

Artist's impression.

It seems inappropriate to whinge, given how much worse so many people have it. For example, I may be subsisting on carrots, caffeine-free substitute beverages and meat pikelets, but hey - nobody has dropped any doodlebugs on my head and I can at least enjoy tossy-turny nights of discomfort without having to get up and stagger to a cold damp shelter every night.

And in the 1940s there were not the wonderful range of symptomatic relief options there are today.

I prefer paracetamol.

Still, it's hard to get jazzed up about the last couple of days. You'll have to take my word for it. There were lots of carrots and leftovers and Using Stuff Up, many cups of Horlicks (a form of relief I can't believe I was managing without for all these years) and lots of wearing of the Scruffy Cardigan of Illness.

Like this, but without the smile and with a big Horlicks stain on the front. And pilling.

I do, however, have a big weekend coming up. It's a certain time of year at Darling Central.

The ladies of Darling Central getting ready for this weekend (artist's impression).

One simply cannot be ill when preparing for Hallowe'en in a genuinely haunted shop. It would be an insult to Amelia the Shop Ghostie, (who loves Hallowe'en because we give her flowers) and, just in case our general invitation to welcome all Undead at Darling Central goes wrong, and we end up with a Zombie Apocalypse* on our hands, it is usually considered best to be dealing with it sans headache.

So I have a Plan. It involves a popular 1940s cure for all ills. Any 1940s housewife worth her salt would know exactly what is needed under the circumstances, so I will give it a try this evening and let you know how it goes.

Frock you later,
Blossom


* We really hope there isn't a Zombie Apocalypse this weekend. The occasional zombie is welcome as long as they behave themselves, but a wall of shambling undead is bad news for a nice frock shop, especially when they keep leaving bits of themselves behind after trying on our nice frocks.