Dropsy is a fine Falstaffian word. I enjoyed greatly Simon Russell Beale's Sir John in the BBC's recent production of the history plays. I have a dropsy, oedema of the lower leg, below one of the wounds from Glasgow. This is a damned nuisance. If I were a Falstaffian type I would laugh it off and pour more sack, but I'm a miserable thin person, and there's nothing to do except sit around with my leg up and brood on why, on this great day in British sport, when Bradley Wiggins won the Tour de France and Juneathoner @helsieboo carried the Olympic torch, I could neither run nor swim nor cycle nor sail.
It will pass, of course. The antibiotics will start to work soon.
I am writing up my notes from the conference on the other blog and they will appear very soon, though I still have to finish my review of the Venerable Bede's new book, his Ecclesiastical History, and record my reactions to the recent Norman invasion. One episode should perhaps be recorded here, for the Bishop-LeFanu lecture was given this year by Yannis Pitsalidis of the World Anti-Doping Agency. In discussing the physiological effects of altitude, he advised all aspiring runners to choose their parents carefully and live at high altitude. More soon.
