There’s a natural progression of phases to go through when you’re under the weather. There’s the initial denial stage with the mantra – “I’m not getting sick, I’m not getting sick, I’m not getting sick”. Realisation soon dawns with an “ohhh bugger” and you immediately try to ‘heal’ it by downing any super-food within reach. The next stage a.k.a accept-you’re-sick-dammit-and-get-on-with-life is all fine and dandy until you hit the slight glitch of not-being-able-to-exercise-do-anything-remotely-active. Sometimes it takes doing said exercise (often during the intermittent period of “woop I’m no longer sweating enough to make my own swimming pool, I must be better!) to realise the sheer stupidity of doing so – running like a 96 year old nana (apologies to any fit 96 year old lasses out there, I’m sure you run more than gracefully) and then having to cling to a fence railing because you’re legs are starting to give way isn’t going to help you recover from a 3-day long fever. In fact it might just make you very nauseous. Cue the next phase: staring listlessly into space contemplating food (and you’re existence, yep we’re being melodramatic). You probably should eat something. Your stomach heaves at the idea. Cue the humble loaf of bread – and it’s metamorphosis into, well, wonder bread. Continue reading →