Gah, what a waste of a weekend. We had a lovely weekend schedule of dinners and outings, but I fell sick. Really sick.

I think it must’ve been a lethal cocktail of Italian meatball spaghetti, red wine and a king-sized Cherry Ripe on Friday night. Because on Saturday morning I woke up vomiting, dizzy, nauseous, feverish, and spent the next 24 hours clutching to the sides of the bed praying for the room to stop spinning.

On Sunday morning I woke up feeling a little better. And hungry. REALLY hungry. But my stomach was still pickled and tender. And the smallest whiff of hot toast made me feel ill.

I put myself on a bland diet. Plain boiled oats. Plain boiled barley. Plain boiled rice. Bleh. I was CRAVING something delicious and tasty and yummy and filling and healing and normal…

And at that moment, my parents exploded through the door, unexpected, with a plate of steaming hot, freshly made, hot and spicy, fried prawn noodles for lunch. It was a bittersweet moment.

I guess the truth is, I have to get sick like this once in a while to make me appreciate the days when I’m NOT sick.

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