I have had a flu virus for the third time around this winter. I am usually as fit as a butcher's dog, but I think in moving back to North Yorkshire I must be encountering the English bugs and they seem to be a lot fiestier than the Scots ones. However, having given my immune system a good talking to, it has belatedly sprung into action and I am on the mend, I am still a little feeble in body but there is nothing wrong with the grey matter now, though this was not always the case when I was in grip of the dreaded lurghi.
I have no desire to fall into the grips of illness again any time soon, but I seem to remember that some of the side effects were interesting. I am putting it down to the effects of medication. So, one afternoon, as i lay upon my sickbed, I heard a clatter going on downstairs in the kitchen. 'Now that's an interesting noise,' thought I, half-wakeful, half-not. The clatter continued for a few minutes and then I identified the noise - it was horses hooves. I surmised that spouse had bought a horse into the kitchen. 'Mmm, interesting,' I thought. 'Why has he bought a horse into the kitchen?' A reasonable question. I think I drifted off to sleep sometime after that, but with hindsight, what fascinates me the most is that I just accepted that spouse WOULD bring a horse into the kitchen. Well, he would wouldn't he, were he so minded? I discovered later that the noises I heard was the sound of the wheelie-bin being dragged to the front of the house, ready for the refuse collectors the following morning.
I can hear him expostulating at this, the moment he reads it, but believe me, dear reader, anything is possible. The tales I could tell ... but not here. I will say, what a good nurse he was and he looked after me very well, in my lucid moments and my less lucid, (hearing horses in the kitchen). I wonder if I was thinking of D H Lawrence's 'Women In Love'? Didn't he have a load of horses galloping along the beach, or something?
And then there was the news all about Donald Trump and his thirty eight million dollar tax bill. I heard it on BBC Radio 4's news programme. I remember marvelling that anyone had paid that much over just in tax and then I fell asleep and, dear reader, as you will know, I have a past track record with Donald Trump. Last time he tried to take a jereboam of champagne off me; I was blowed if he was going to wrestle thirty eight mill off me this time.
In my dreams, limpets on rocks have nothing on me. I got my sticky mitts on thirty eight million and I was off. I can see the dollar bills now, safely tucked into my Santa sack as I sped off down the road, legs pumping like a Roadrunner bird. Strangely, Donald was not chasing after me. Good to tell this was the land of dreams.
It was worth suffering the high temperature and all the unpleasant side-effects that go with it, (I will not bore you, you can imagine). I had a blast with that thirty eight million. I went around the world distributing largessse, faster than Jules Verne ever did. All my favourite charities and a lot more besides, got some of the dibs - Hearing Dogs for Deaf People, Guide Dogs for the Blind, The Salvation Army, The Red Cross, The Lifeboats and dear to my heart, Mary's Meals got funding for all the countries they work in across the world.
In my dreams, in my dreams. I know I was depriving the United States Inland Revenue Service of a serious amount of dosh that I'm sure a great many Americans would have benefitted from, but what a chance I had and if it came my way again, I would take it. So, thank you D J Trump for letting me explore my dreams like that. I was sorry to wake up and find it was only a dream, but one day ... one day ... a gal can have her dreams and who knows .....