To give you some idea of the scale of my illness recently I will tell you that I had within two feet from me the books Living Retro by Andrew Weaving and Mid-Century Modern by Bradley Quinn constantly for four days, and I did not look at them once. *waits for the audience to understand the enormity of said feat*. Not one time did I think 'ooh I know, I'll flick through this to cheer me up'. Because I was so ill I couldn't. *shakes head* tragic.
THAT'S how ill I was.
Now, however, I am sufficiently recovered for plumped up pillows and eye candy on the knee with tchai steaming seductively beside me, which, I can confirm, knocks whimpering in the foetal position for four days into a cocked hat, that's for damn sure. So if I am to be knobbled by sickness, and am lucky enough for it to be pain-free, I can think of no better way to endure it than to cuddle up to books like these for a few days.
Lickable, isn't it? You may have seen the Sofa of My Dreams in there somewhere...
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