Eurodan in English

And I had such good intentions. I took a break from early packing and reading Barbara Ellen in the Observer and drove over to Hull's Ice Arena for a bit of, well, you know... exercise. (Yes, I had rather forgotten about that recently).

And it was all going so swimmingly. After a slightly wobbly start, I'd regained my confidence and was fairly whizzing around, enjoying the feeling of actually doing something, being among others enjoying themselves, and raising my heart-rate into the bargain. Perfect. After about an hour I trotted off, perfectly satisfied and at peace with the world. "More of the same, to come," I thought.

Until the asthma started. Luckily I had my inhaler with me, but it was quite a serious attack - not debilitating or panic-causing, but bloody unpleasant all the same. It's such a tricky illness, this one. It lulls you into a false sense of security, and then strikes. You get to know your triggers (cats and house dust for me, mostly, but cold air and physical exercise set any asthma sufferer off, so a cold ice-rink - bingo!), but you're still never quite sure if and when it will strike. And there's not really anything much that can be done, apart from steroids, which seem somehow rather undesirable.

Anyway - I survived intact, and resolved to get a grip on it by way of a full consultation once I was safely installed in my new life in Brussels. Do remind me - I'm terrible at looking after myself.