I'm cured!

I won't actually say this out loud because it seems to be that this may be overly-presumptuous and the heavy hand of fate (or fist rather) will flatten me, but after nearly a week of feeling ill and under the weather (and the weather in London this week has been dreadful so that says a lot), I am feeling better.

And it is through just a little practice of ye olde yoga... and least it seems to be. Yes, hippies, we have yet another victory over the people firmly steeped in the mainstream. Those taking pills and tablets and addictive syrups. (My righteousness is cut short, as usual, by the headache that was still dogging me nearly the entire day and the whiff of ibuprofen that took care of that.) My chi is restored. Being in touch with the "subtle energies" creates an authority to say that it was because of the yoga I practised before dinner. A self-fulfilling hippy science. Not unlike the more conventional schools of science.

But this is the first evening in well over a week where, come evening, my limbs are not freezing and my finger and toenails are not purple, where my nausea hasn't crept in post-meal to help me remember (in an almost itemised, uncomfortably visceral fashion) what I just ate and where my energy is merely a figment of my memory. Yes, a few sun salutations (despite the soggy lack of sustainable sunshine) has put paid to my flu.

Hallelujah!