Breathless in Bristol

My weekend away got cut short. After just one night under canvas, my health deteriorated to such an extent I had to come home. Mac and the boys are still in the Gower.

Summer is always a difficult time of year for me: my asthma worsens and, at times, becomes life threatening. Our family vacations usually involve at least one medical emergency - I'm always the culprit.

Last summer, we had to cut short our time in France after I got sick. By the time we made it to the ferry, I was halfway to hypoxia. Maybe a little more than halfway - I can remember feeling deliriously pleased that I had enough French to ask: "Y a-t-il un docteur à bord?"

In any case, they responded with admirable haste, and I was hustled off to sickbay, where I spent the next several hours improving my French in the company of a very charming nurse.

Sadly, there were no French lessons for me when I got back to Bristol yesterday, just the NHS. Now, mostly recovered but with the family still away, I'm left rattling around the house on my own.

Expect some blogging.