I’ve been off work for two days and think I still have a bit of a fever. Less so than yesterday, my body is still achy and heavy and my mind is somewhat detatched and floaty. Having prised myself out of bed I arrive an hour early for the meeting and don’t know what to do. Actually I just want to lie down on the sofa but it’s not my office and I may look rather strange. I stand there indecisively and finally decide to walk back to work. It starts to rain. My forehead is clammy and the raindrops cool me down and sting a bit. I pass some jasmine which, in the damp, smells more intensely than usual and releases memories of other times and other places. Of Spain. Breakfast at Tiffanys is playing on my ipod and that roots me in another era too. Everything feels a bit out of focus and I put all my effort in to walking in a straight line, to thinking straight, and to being in control when my whole body seems to be ultra-sensitive to smell, light, touch. Cowley Road is too loud and too bright and too in my face. If Cowley Road freaks me out, I’m clearly not back to normal yet.