I had to cancel my autist musicians and classes of English that evening.
As is habitual with French doctors, I was prescribed a cocktail of very strong drugs, with codeine, steroids and antihistamines all in there somewhere with the antibiotics.
I usually visit the doctor, hear the diagnosis and then chuck the drugs, but I didnt dare this time because I have a jazz workshop Saturday afternoon.
Steroids make me speedy with an underlying sort of mad anger, and codeine plus anti histamines put me to sleep. The last two days have felt a bit like a fairground ride.
The rival chemicals were battling it out last night, with steroids emerging the wakeful winner up to 4.30 am, and then the soporifics won...so I slept through my alarm at 5.30 am.
I just managed to get to the pistage trials in time to register at 7.15 am, but did not have time to give Porridge the run that she needed before her brevet.
I got to the start and sent her off into a damp field of long grass and the temptation was too much. She charged off into the dawn somersaulting and rolling with delight, totally out of control.
And then she found the pig manure.
Porridge... THERE ARE NO BEARS IN BRITTANY... really... disguise is not necessary.
So no shiny cup today. Maybe another time. A girl can dream, cant she?