Saturday 8 July

Woke at 4am bathed in perspiration and the echoes of unpleasant dreams, and with a very sore throat. Mum says I am to stay in bed lest I have caught a germ. I feel too weak even to read my James Bond, which I remember I bought from Help the Aged (20p) and which may therefore be the source of my infection, elderly people being renowned for their lack of attention to personal hygiene. Mum brought the little radio up in case I wanted to listen to Classic FM, but even that felt like too much effort.

I have little to report today, having slept through most of it. My temperature is 103 degrees, and I am forcing myself to write my diary in case this day is my last. But I must also write to Rachel, wishing her well in her future.

Mum said she phoned the clinic, but they were too busy with paperwork and expenses claims to deal with sick people and could only advise a visit to the chemist’s, who refused to give her some antibiotics without a proscription. Mum bought me some Rennies and a bottle of after-sun lotion instead.

I am sure the Rennies will come in handy sooner or later. Mum is very tidy in the kitchen – in fact it is spotless – but cooking is not her strong point. Sometimes I think that if Mum made a cup of tea she would manage to burn the water.

I will write more tomorrow if I feel stronger. If, that is, I do not pass away during the night.