Extract from a letter to my sister dated 22nd December 2005
'It's bright and beautiful here. Every day is sunny but the dry air is ruining my skin and hair. I went into a department store this week and was immediately approached by an assistant who told me she could do something for my 'dry skin and wrinkles.' Chinese women have a horror of anything less than pale skin and seem to assume I want to get rid of my freckles. This is the first time they added wrinkles. You learn to be thick skinned about such things. As I type, my face is slathered in Ponds Dry Skin Cream - nice and cheap - and my hair is solid with conditioner. Just as well the boys are down in the playground otherwise they would have nightmares.
Actually all three are sick at the moment. Thomas has tonsillitis and the other two have ear and chest infections. It turned cold here suddenly 'plunging' to 15 degrees. Not cold for you but bloody chilly for us. It's been a long term at school and most kids seem to be down with something.
Thomas is a great patient. Confined to his bedroom for four days is dull as hell but he rarely complains. I took them all to the doctor on Tuesday night. and because they have different illnesses I was told to keep them apart which is impossible in an apartment. The doctor smiled at Conor and said, "So, no hugging and kissing your brother." Conor looked at her puzzled and said, "Why would I hug my brother?"
Conor is a rotten patient. He has a high temperature, along with all his other complaints, but on that Tuesday night he was determined to see the school pantomime the next day. The Panto is acted by the teachers and it's for the pupils only; it's supposed to be a real hoot. The doctor told him he could go but only if his temperature dropped below 37. She didn't believe this would happen. I didn't either. Sickness never affects Conor's appetite; he eats three dinners a night but on this night he only had for one. I made him wear three jumpers over his pyjamas and two quilts and fed him dinner in bed but he had a scowl on his puss. After running back and forth from the kitchen to fetch his Lordship's medicines, hot Ribena and extra warm things, he said, "This is my worst Christmas ever." When I asked why he said, "Everybody has managed to piss me off." He gagged when taking the five different medicines and there was a danger of him throwing them all up again but eventually he snuggled under and grumbled himself to sleep.
While at the doctor's, Tuesday, I asked her to look at my feet. I've been doing a lot of hill walking and this weird blister appeared on the ball of my left foot and wouldn't shift. After examining my foot, the doctor told me I had a verruca. I was horrified. While the doctor sprayed my foot with jets of freezing stuff from a gun, Conor held up one hand to form the letter 'L' and mouthed, "Loser" at me. Conor didn't even know what a verruca was but they knew from my reaction it was something horrible. Instead of sympathy, he went from 'poor me, I'm so sick' to a smirking sewer rat.
I woke up on Wednesday morning with the thermometer practically shoved up my nose. Conor stood over me demanding I read his temperature. By some miracle; it read less than 37 degrees. He got to go to the Panto.'
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