O popoi

Betty is laid on one side in a bed of sickness, relatively speaking: not a terrible one, just a bit of a sore throat and a woozy kind of feeling in the head. She has been gargling Himalayan salt, doing kaloba shots, upping the fluids, brewing ginger and lemon, taking paracetamol, and other such desperate and heroic acts to ward it off, and they seem to be working fairly well, considering. Other things Betty has been considering are as follows:

1. Flashmobs are the thing just now. What about this one: somebody coughs in a crowded train station. So does somebody else. Others join in. Within minutes, myriad commuters are hacking and whooping as if to shake the earth. A pertussis flashmob! Poignant and striking.

2. Tomorrow night, Betty must take several visiting Pilates teachers to the city and get them into a restaurant that doesn’t take reservations, while fifty thousand other people attempt to crowd into the area for the opening of the Rugby World Cup, an event which interests Betty very little, though there will be fireworks. This might be interesting.

3. There are no more considerations for this evening.

When the fever lifts, Betty will let you know.