This is my first tarry to the keyboard for three days. The time between the trinity of dusk/dawns since my return from a weekend in Newcastle spent predominantly in bed; where I drifted in and out of sleep to the backdrop of audiobooks.

During these hours ventures for a COVID-19 PCR test and a GP appointment my only two sojourns from within the hallowed halls of chez Strachan. The former negative; the latter positive. To clarify when stating the GP visit was positive I’m referring to the fact she provided me with the mental health support I sought, not that I’d contracted anything untoward.

Sadly, the fillip consequential of a verve filled weekend in the north east of England was dented shortly after returning home to West Yorkshire late Sunday afternoon when overwhelmed by extreme fatigue. Circumstances leading to yours truly heading straight to bed upon arrival back home.

My erratic slumber, when not visiting the COVID test centre/GP, dogging me until this (Wednesday) morning. A period where I’ve barely eaten or conversed with anyone. My days an amalgam of capricious consciousness and a soundscape of audiobook recordings narrated by favourite entertainers such as Vic Reeves, Bob Mortimer, Paul Whitehouse and David Mitchell.

The comic quartets words providing a whimsical aural accompaniment (when I was awake) over the 48+ hours spent in bed feeling as weak as a kitten. Days also coloured with incidents of sporadic coughing fits.

Yours truly still doesn’t feel 100% but at least today I’ve got my posterior out of bed, eaten breakfast (two slices of marmite on toast) and ventured outside for the first time (when not necessary) in three days. Most importantly, though, I’ve not only seen a return of appetite for food but also welcomed back a thirst to write again – The latter evading me since Sunday.

There’s no clearer indication my biorhythms are outta kilter than if I’ve little or no interest in picking up the metaphorical quill. Not, I hasten to add, that I’ve any proof my 2-3 day lethargy has been consequential of biorhythm unbalance.

I wrote that because it’s a more articulate/concise descriptive than writing ‘There’s no clearer indication my health bus is parked in poop station than if I’ve little or no interest in picking up the metaphorical quill’……. Although, then again.

Anyhow, although still bereft of usual energy levels, I’m back at the keyboard. The interface to my laptop, in conjunction with notions flooding from my cranial area, affording me a sanctuary away from laying in bed listening to audiobooks.

Relaying these thoughts allowing an escape from planet reality. My temporary destination a wondrous place where the mental starkness is less intense, despite the stricter dress code….. Trust me, I can’t wear the emperors new clothes worn for bed when writing at a coffee shop, as I am now…. The bosker brown burn jeopardy for one would be too high – And that’s before you even take into account the inevitable indecent exposure charges.

I leave for a five night break in Scotland on Friday. A hiatus which includes one night in Dumfries and four nights in Loch Lomond, which’ll hopefully re-invigorate my energy levels further and afford me plenty of tranquil time to explore, write and draw.

To clarify, when writing I’m due to spend four nights in Loch Lomond yours truly is referring to residing in a lodge on the loch’s banks; not I’m going to be water in situ for a quartet of nights….. I reckon the hyperthermia and excess wrinkles consequential of being immersed in Loch Lomond for that duration render that type of vacation foolhardy…… Not to mention introducing risk of Nessie attack…… Oh, hold on, wrong loch!

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