Mine at any rate is shrinking rapidly. It now consists of my flat, the local park and the supermarket. Today I lounged around until 2.30pm in my pajamas reading a splendid spine-chiller of a ghost story (The Little Stranger, Sarah Waters). Then migrated to the kitchen to bake banana bread with all the bananas I've been given as some sort of weird get-well-soon ritual.
Yes, I baked.
I haven't baked since I was about five years old, with my mother.
I think I've burned the top of the loaf and I'm almost reassured by that. Of all the adjectives i use to describe myself, home-baker has never been one of them. No offence - it has just not been part of my world for rather a long time. It's simple and therapeutic, I enjoy it. I find myself thinking that I must invest in a food processor.
And this from someone who had a champagne dinner at The Ivy less than 2 weeks ago! This is all the more poignant for me as today I should have been flying out to Texas to report from the sxsw festival. Instead I am happily padding about in my kitchen and debating whether to pop to the store for extra milk.
Times are indeed a'changin.
I'm feeling a lot better one week after the op. It still hurts to swallow and, as I discovered when I absent-mindedly attempted to hum along to an old Queen track on the radio earlier, I can't really sing. I hope that comes back. The karaoke bars of London need me.