Confiteor

As all you Latin fans (and Catholics) out there will know, “Confiteor” is latin for “I confess.” I explain that up front to prevent my non-latin speaking (and non-Catholic) readers from wondering what in heaven’s name the title means. “Is it confetti spelled wrong? And if it is, why is he writing a blog about confetti!?”

A very tired Mrs P. More than usually happy to see Gandalf

So, it’s confiteor time.

You may have been wondering why I haven’t been posting images of Mrs P and I scaling huge mountains, hanging off vertiginous rock faces and generally bouncing around Austria like the eternal teenagers we stubbornly consider ourselves to still be. Well, truth is, Mrs P has not been well.

This heavy stuff must be sadly packed away for a while.

A few weeks before we came away Mrs P developed a flu type viral infection that saw her take to her bed for 10 whole days. She was proper sick. The Doctor confirmed this diagnosis of ‘proper sick’ and warned her that it would be about three weeks before she felt better and then it would take a month or more to get her strength back. Viral infections really beat you up.

Mrs P about to overdo it at the beginning of a three hour, 1,300m descent

No problem, she thought, I’ll just be getting stronger when we get to the mountains. Then, shortly after arriving in France, she picked up a really bad cold. You know the score; headache, sore throat, earache, the lot.

I, as always, blamed the French, which is a little harsh since 1066 was a long time ago.

Cotton grass. One of the rare occasions my random guess at the name of an alpine flower proved to be correct.

Mrs P, who is made of stern stuff (read: is downright stubborn) was having none of this feeling unwell malarky and decided that she would just power through it. Keep cycling, hiking, climbing etc. until the pesky cold bally well goes away. And hang the terrible weather. Great idea…

…Not!

Mrs P. Still smiling despite how dirty Gandalf is.

Her idea, it turns out, was far from the right approach and finally she ground to a complete halt. And so dear reader, that is why my Instagram posts have somewhat lacked the usual smiling face of the ever radiant Mrs P. It is why my Strava entries are deficient of the usual “…with Mrs P” addendum.

Gandalf, chillin’ with his crew

We have run away from the big mountains, to hide and lick our wounds (that’s the literary way of saying, ‘for Mrs P to get all better.’)

The weather has finally got over its urge to drown us and the sun is beating down. So we have parked up Gandalf, our trusty home-from-home, for a while. He is now languishing beside the beautiful Ossiacher See (pr: Zee), or Lake Ossiach near the historic Austrian city of Villach.

Time for a dip methinks

Mrs P is in the right place. Sitting in the shade, reading, sleeping and generally keeping Gandalf company. I am swimming, cycling and making sure Mrs P is well fed and watered. Which, I am reliably informed, is as it should be

The annual vanity shot. Spoiled only by the lighting, which makes it look like I am bald!

Worry not dear reader. I can safely say that Mrs P is on the mend.

So, herendeth the Confiteor. Normal service will resume as soon as possible.

Ossiacher See. So good I photographed it twice

By way of penitence In my next blog, if you are lucky, I shall tell the story of the budgie smuggler. If that doesn’t bring your forgiveness I don’t know what will.