I didn't look inside, so can't tell if it contained entries like "dogfood" or like "labrador brisket".
The everyday blog of Richard Bartle.
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8:21am on Wednesday, 11th February, 2026:
Anecdote
Seen in a garden centre's restaurant:
I didn't look inside, so can't tell if it contained entries like "dogfood" or like "labrador brisket".
8:54am on Tuesday, 10th February, 2026:
Anecdote
This current infection I have has only reinforced my view that when I die, I'll have a cold at the time. It'll be what tips me over the edge to have a stroke or a heart attack or to fall down the stairs or whatever.
For the third night in a row, I've had to sleep on the couch downstairs so as not to keep my wife awake with my coughing. My son-in-law has had to do the same to spare my daughter from the louder effects of his misery. It might seem unfair that the ill person is the one who has to sleep uncomfortably, but my daughter has a baby who would also have to move, so I suppose it's not. There're only two of us in our house, though, so I can feel aggreieved about it.
My voice isn't back to normal, but is largely present when I try to speak now. My throat no longer hurts when I swallow. My son-in-law, on the other hand, feels as though his windpipe is being held in a Darth Vadar death pinch; the only thing he can eat is ice cream. Still, if you're going to be restricted to eating only one thing, ice cream isn't a bad one to go with.
My daughter is a pharmacist and is allowed to prescribe antibiotics for certain complaints. One of these is tonsilitis, which an investigation of her husband revealed was causing the death pinch. He's now on antibiotics to cure it. I had a tonsilectomy when I was five, so no antibiotics for me. That said, my stepmother has been prescribed some because her cold has developed into a chest infection. Mine hasn't, though, so no antibiotics for me on that score, either.
In an effort to get some sleep, I didn't take a bedtime dose of the medicine I was given for chesty coughs (which, just as it claims, gives you a chesty cough after you've taken it). I thought that perhaps if I didn't cough as often I might get some sleep. It didn't help: OK, so I didn't cough quite as often, but when I did it lasted for ages as nothing was coming up. Eventually, I took some of the bad-tasting elixir at around 6am.
What felt like two hours later, when I went to the toilet, I checked the time and it was 6am. Either: I misread my watch when I took the medicine; this lurgy has interfered with my sense of time; I've coughed so hard that relatavistic effects caused some kind of time dilation to come into play.
Having a dreadful virus is a cloud that does have some silver linings. I'm exercising coughing muscles I didn't know I had; I'm slowly losing weight; I'm doing a lot of reading, rather than writing. Hmm, actually, I'm supposed to be doing writing, so maybe that last one isn't a silver lining.
Why didn't I ever get anything like this when I was lecturing? I could have had a week off! As it was, I never took a day off sick, even though I was surrounded by students who brought germs from all over the world for me to catch (but somehow didn't). I did sometimes have to cancel individual supervisory meetings when I had a bad cold, because I could have passed my cold on in the confined space of my office, but it was never so bad that I couldn't lecture perfectly well. I did occasionally catch something from supervisees who staggered to their supervisory meeting while ill out of a misplaced sense of duty, but luckily most of them were only too keen to realise they had a legitimate (for once) excuse to miss a meeting.
Anyway, I'll see how this virus proceeds. I think I'm on the winning side now. Coughs can stick around for weeks, but so long as the magnitude of them subsides I should be OK.
Eh-hoo. Eh-hoo-eh-hoo-eh-hoo. EH-hoo-eh-hoo-eh-hoo-eh-hoo-eh-hoo.
Sorry, I'm just having flashbacks to when my grandfather got up in the morning and coughed up the sputum that had collected in his lungs overnight (a consequence of his smoking 40 cigarettes a day from age 12 onwards).
8:21am on Monday, 9th February, 2026:
Anecdote
Ten years ago, I blogged with reference to George Orwell's essay about the ideal pub, The Moon Under Water.
There are now over a dozen Wetherspoon pubs bearing this name.
I don't think Orwell would necessarily have associated his ideal pub with a Wetherspoons.
8:39am on Sunday, 8th February, 2026:
Anecdote
Two weeks ago, I caught a cold. It was something of a streamer, but I was over it by the time we wento to Yorkshire. The grandson caught it off me and was also over it, but then it seemed to come back. It was a different infection, though. I caught it off him, as did pretty well everyone else who came into contact with him.
This one isn't all about a runny nose. It's all about a cough and leaden limbs. It could even be influenza. I know it's not COVID-19, because I did a self-test, but I've had it for a week now and am still coughing. Not only am I coughing, but I'm coughing stuff up. It's very disagreeable.
This morning I got up at 5:45 so my coughing didn't keep my wife awake as well. After hoiking up matter so thick it was chewy, I settled down a bit and actually got some sleep. I'll try get some more during the day. Hopefully, next time my left eye won't be sealed shut when I awaken from some kind of crusty eye glue.
None of this is the worst part, though.
Some of the phlegm has attached itself to my larynx, taking away most of my voice. I can't even say things as simple as "it isn't empty" without my wife having to ask what I said, because all she heard was "emp".
This started yesterday, and I was hoping I'd be able to talk properly today, but if anything it's worse. Gaah!
The podcast interview I have scheduled for 3pm is not looking good....
8:15am on Saturday, 7th February, 2026:
Weird
I see Asda are up to their old tricks again.
At least they have a cross on them.
8:39am on Friday, 6th February, 2026:
Weird
Nice try, Burger King, but I'm not cleaning your toilets for you.
9:10am on Thursday, 5th February, 2026:
Weird
While up north, I saw this sign in a garden centre:
Do they cost £85 or 85p?
We were told at school never to mix currency units. Mind you, that was to stop the likes of £2/19/11d, so perhaps it's gone out of fashion now.
No, I don't know what a fern Christmas bow is.
10:01am on Wednesday, 4th February, 2026:
Anecdote
My younger daughter works in the village of Dedham, where tomorrow The King and Queen will be paying a visit.
Naturally, although most of the village is ecstatic about this, there are some residents who sense the opportunity to make a point.
Quite how Charles is protecting Andrew, or indeed how he even could if he wanted to, is not made clear.
The days when fliers didn't echo unsupported statements made on social media are disappearing fast.
8:09am on Tuesday, 3rd February, 2026:
Anecdote
Early February is not a good time for tourists to visit the seaside.
That said, our car was one of half a dozen parked facing the sea, so we could simply watch the waves breaking.
8:55am on Monday, 2nd February, 2026:
Anecdote
We're in Yorkshire today for a flying visit to see my stepmother. Our grandson has a cold that he caught off me, so let's hope she doesn't catch it off him.
Last week, her cat, Ronnie, was hit by a DPD delivery van and killed. He'd been a fixture here for over a decade, and every time we visited, there he was. It was weird realising that all the little habits we'd developed, like closing the bedroom door so he couldn't get in and sleep on the bed, weren't applicable any more. Even coming downstairs in the morning and looking to where he'd normally be eating his breakfast (or turning his nose up at it — both were equally probable), only to remember he wasn't there, was weird.
He was an old cat, and had a lot of health problems. He was going deaf, and that's probably what caused him to stick his head out between parked cars just as a van was going past. At least it was quick, though; he was declining, and could have endured a lot of suffering in his final months. Still, it was something of a shock.
My stepmother (she isn't the evil kind, by the way) is now having to adjust to life on her own. She has more freedom to travel but less company, and of course she misses Ronnie a lot. She's not intending to find a replacement, but the way it is with cats, they often find owners rather than the other way round.
I like cats, even though they're indifferent to me. Dogs, on the other hand, dislike me, but that's OK because I don't think much of them, either (except collies; collies and I have an understanding).
7:58am on Sunday, 1st February, 2026:
Weird
This headline in the Essex County Standard can be read multiple ways.
Does anyone want a snapped baby chimpanzee?
8:22am on Saturday, 31st January, 2026:
Anecdote
From this week's Essex County Standard on page 4:
Meanwhile, on page 20:
Clearly, norovirus is contageous.
9:08am on Friday, 30th January, 2026:
Anecdote
I bought some more playing cards.
These were cheap (£8.39 including postage), because they're not antique. This is all I knew about them when I bought them:
They're in a cellophane wrapper, so they can't have been earlier than the late 1930s; the tear-off strip probably adds some more years to that. However, I thought they looked pretty so I went for it.
Naturally, I took off the wrapper. I wasn't buying these as an investment, so didn't care about it. I wasn't disappointed by what I found inside:
The 10 of Clubs told me that the cards were manufactured by Coeur, which is a brand used by Altenburger Spielkarten Fabrik, a German company now owned by Carta Mundi of Belgium (as are so many other old manufacturers).
The faces, particularly on the queens, looked as if they'd been modelled on real people, so I was a little concerned that I'd bought a deck based on well-known East German actors or something. That turns out not to be the case, though. It's a Coeur Salon-Karte no. 66, made in 1968, presumably for the UK or US market.
Anyway, although it's more recent than what I typically buy, the cards are both unusual and pretty, and constitute a nice addition to my collection.
9:02am on Thursday, 29th January, 2026:
Weird
Marks and Spencer have this catchphrase they want us to associate with them. "This isn't just <product>: it's M&S <product>".
They've eased off on it in recent years, largely because people use it when M&S screw up. "This isn't just an Internet security issue: it's an M&S Internet security issue".
That hasn't stopped them from putting up signs like this in their stores:
The white lettering on the black background makes it look like a protest message, telling us the food isn't just.
No Fairtrade designation for your food, then, M&S!
8:34am on Wednesday, 28th January, 2026:
Weird
I don't know why the makers of these baby wipes decided to draw grass on the packaging, but did they have to make it look as if the baby has claws?
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Copyright © 2026 Richard Bartle (richard@mud.co.uk).