I told you I was sick

... and have now had confirmation.  (And how lucky I am to be registered with a medical practice that holds a no-appointment clinic on Sunday morning for regulars who haven't been able to get in during the week.) I came home with

• a referral for a chest x-ray, as it seems as if my rib is cracked, not just bruised; 
• a prescription, plus repeat, for top-strength anti-biotics since the lingering cough turns out to be bronchitis;
• instructions for lung-clearing exercises that promise to be so painful (see cracked rib, above) I have to take paracetamol before I start them; 
• disprin to start thinning my blood before the flight to Italy, to counter the greater risk of DVT with a lung infection; and 
• a warning that if I don't get better soon I should think about cancelling my trip. 

Sigh. Still, I realise I have been fighting this cold since the day I got home from Berlin last month. No wonder I'm feeling a bit flat and run-down.

But also feeling strangely out-of-body, unexpectedly thrown back to 1971. I'm listening to Joel's new CD of Tea for the Tillerman, which was the very first record I ever bought. It cost $5 and I played it and played it over and over, and pored over the lyrics. And now "Longer Boats" is playing; and I realise how much I love this music still, its lyricism and its passion. Pity I have no breath to sing along with.

I've just dropped Joel at Trinity College for a week-long residential jazz intensive, being run by five members of the Juilliard Jazz programme. Yes. That Juilliard. So many excited teenagers running around looking for practice spaces to start jamming, before sessions start tomorrow. Can't wait for the Friday night end-of-course concert.