It has been a strange few days.
The sore throat I complained about last time out, developed into full blown 'flu' symptoms with headaches, coughing, sneezing and feeling generally lousy, so consequently I haven't ventured out of doors for the best part of four days. In fact I even had to miss a jazz gig I had paid for. A real downer!
For forty eight hours I hardly moved from the sofa flitting between sleeping and reading, so at least some good came of my inactivity. In that time I read 'Into Thin Air' by Jon Krakauer, his account of a disastrously successful attempt to climb Everest in 1996. While not as thought provoking as his earlier 'Into The Wild', it was nevertheless a very interesting read and I marvelled at the hardships that humans can endure in pursuit of their dreams. While reading of these people undertaking such physically and mentally gruelling activities, I was struggling to make it to my kitchen to fix myself a hot drink.
I followed that book with the latest by one of my current favourite novelists, Haruki Murakami. Unfortunately for me, 'Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage' fell well short of his previous work, the superb 1Q84'. Still, I can think of worse ways to spend 48 hours.
What is particularly weird is that throughout the time I have been unwell, I have not once felt the slightest inclination to listen to any music whatsoever. So the pile of unheard CD's remains, and to it has been added 'Tomorrow's Modern Boxes' by Thom Yorke. Knowing that the next month will bring new releases by Anais Mitchell and These New Puritans, I had better get back to full health a.s.a.p.
I will also report that the time of inactivity on the sofa has played havoc with my sleep patterns which perhaps explains why I am writing this stuff at 3.30 in the morning.
I told you it had been a strange few days.
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