I was full of good intentions at the beginning of this week. I was going to visit the gym daily for physio and swimming, and generally make my poor withered limbs strong again. But you know what? I simply haven't got the energy. It's freezing outside. And it's all I can do to get up and down the stairs. As I only got out of intensive care on Friday, I've decided that what I really need to do is listen to my body. And after such a long time in hospital, my body is telling me to spend a lot of time at home, nesting (and taking plenty of siestas with magazines and boxes of chocolates).

Aren't these posters beautiful? I tried to photo them last night with atmospheric lighting, but... well, you can see the 'but' for yourself...

So here they are again in daylight. I've had them for years; bought them in Antibes, in fact, when my mother had a tiny flat in Cannes. Fun times. But I've never shown them off to their full advantage, exhibiting in an unimaginative row in student-like clip frames. This cluster idea came from wonderful Will, who lives downstairs (and more of whom later).

And this sublime Audrey-like creature is my mother in the 60s. HOW beautiful?

My recent stay in intensive care got me thinking, not for the first time, about freedom. I have been in hospital enough times (and prison once - it was in Greece, and a hideous miscarriage of justice - honest guv), to relish my freedom more than just about anything in the world.

This post is neither particularly original nor insightful, but really - just how lucky am I, and other women my age, and younger, to be living when and where we do? I'm not talking about idiotic freedoms (like the one to bear arms, for example), but it simply wouldn't be much of a barrel of laughs to be female, or indeed homosexual, in so many parts of the world, right now. Lest we forget our own heritage, it wouldn't have been much of a rollicking ride to be female or gay in this country - say - 50 years ago; well, pre-pill, and legalisation, anyway.

I don't think feminism has achieved everything yet (FGM? People trafficking? Jeeeez), and the selfie/twerking/me me me culture of the under 20s is breathtakingly depressing, but just for once I wanted to express how bloody lucky I feel to be living where and when I do.

And this is probably more a reflection of my age than anything else, but it is surely no coincidence that a lot of my favourite choons contain the words 'freedom' or 'free'.

Here are some of them:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PAXDHd9gkY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDK2svrGG_c

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2IpJBZEosk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s09WA_FR5_k

What are your favourite freedom songs? I'd love to hear them.

It was a pretty traumatic time about which I figured I neither wanted to write nor people to read. However, in time-honoured fashion, here are some pictorial highlights:


Family holiday in Sicily (four below):

I've been in Intensive Care for nearly 3 weeks. Yeah, yeah, as excuses go, it's pretty lame but there you go. Don't want to go into too much about it, but things I've learned from the experience include:

1. Certain bits of the NHS are bloody marvellous. So there. Cannot praise more highly the kindness and professionalism of all the team at the Manvers Ward of St Mary's Hospital, Paddington.

2. I have had to relearn so many things, from walking (with a zimmer to start with), to typing (so please excuse if this blog ever starts to resemble an unlovely combination of Polish/Swahili/Aramaic), to - gulp! - doing my face!

3. Burning the midnight oil with tea and vitamins is far more productive than (and nearly as much fun as) doing so with wine - BIG learning curve, this one!

4. I have the kindest husband, family and friends in the world.

5. Have rediscovered three of my favourite books ever - thanks Nick (brother) and Mum. To. Die. For. Really.

6. Big strong physio men rock. If it wasn't for them giving the all clear re my walking I'd definitely still be in hospital.

7. There's nothing like coming home to Mum's shepherd's pie, tea with Gold Top milk and Children in Need to stop you feeling sorry for yourself.