Today I worked from home; since I'm incubating a number of viruses, I thought it best to keep my diseased ass as far as possible from my poor colleagues.
And despite spending huge chunks of the day feeling a bit shit, it was glorious being at home. While I hacked away at a particularly complex document, Baby Bristol slept at my feet, making delightful doggy snoring noises and jonesing for a walk every time I got up. He might be gorgeous but he's a useless PA: requests for tea, dictation and to pick up my dry cleaning were ignored.
About lunch time I gave in and we went for a walk into the town belt: it was brilliantly sunny, there was no-one around, and fat tuis sang to us as we walked. I'm assuming the fever is making me a bit delirious, because I felt so happy I couldn't find words for it. I have a great husband, house and dog, I live in a fantastic city and a country that isn't at war with anyone. I have one of the nicest contracts I've had in a long while and a side order of fun freelance work. I have my health, money in the bank, blah, blah, blah. See what I mean about delirum?
But that's all by way of saying I have forgotten how much I adore working from home. I'm determined my next contract shall be three/four days a week.
And, because we all need something beautiful to gaze upon, here's my furry assistant in what I discovered is his favourite afternoon sunning spot...