– You don't seem to be rushing back to work.
– No. I would like to – nothing would please me more – but I must bow down to medical opinion.
– Which is telling you to put your feet up and watch daytime TV?
– Not in so many words. But in essence, yes.
– All because you've decided to contract rickets?
– It's shingles. It's different. Hence my elegantly straight legs.
– Sorry. I think I was actually confusing it with scurvy. I was about to offer you an orange.
– Right... It was a surprise to hear the diagnosis – it hadn't occurred to me. I had thought it was some non-specific virus causing the feverishness. Though I suppose the red spots were a clue.
– Spots are always a giveaway.
– It's a little unsettling to think how it comes about: that you've had the chickenpox virus lying dormant inside you since childhood, biding its time, and then, for no very good reason, it decides to reawaken, and – attack.
– That is a bit creepy. It will give me nightmares.
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