Panacea

Georgette Heyer cures all ills.

I was having the day from hell, ‘feverish and fagged’,  culminating in R’s ear infection peaking in the middle of Ross-on-Wye and me having to administer Calprofen via a syringe between a guy selling sheepskins and a guy selling fish. We had had to vacate the Antique Tea Shoppe (so twee, you can buy the chair you sit on to eat your dodgy scone if it takes your fancy) as R was screaming. Screaming - this from a baby who rarely cries. I was panic-stricken, I thought he was dying or something.

I got back into town and realised I’d forgotten all the goat’s milk I’d bought R - left it at mum’s so ran quickly up the town and bought more, filled R’s prescription for antibiotics, dropped by a friend’s shop and cried off helping this evening, got home and was really in a state - teeth gritted, eyes wild, more jobs than energy in the offing.

Then I opened ‘The Grand Sophy’ and was instantly transported away from my troubles and back to a land of reason.

 Thank you, thank you Georgette. If there is a Heaven, you deserve your place, my love.