As I write I am feeling like a piece of crap. No...........I don't want a piece of crap, I feel like I am a piece of crap. Its all my fault. I have tempted the Gods – or fate, depending on your viewpoint. It happened like this:
On Monday evening I was sat in the sauna of my leisure club. I was having a good sweat. A really good sweat. I enjoy having a good sweat. Sitting in a sauna having a good sweat is one of the ecstatic delights I look forward to at the end of the day, especially if the day is a Monday. I don't like Mondays. Monday Monday, can't trust that day.
So, to recap – I don't like Mondays apart from that part of a Monday where I am sat having a good sweat in a very hot sauna. I hope this is clear, I can't make it any clearer. If its not clear, then I can arrange therapy.
Anyway, there I was sat feeling at peace with the world and wondering how the poor people are getting on (I've nothing against poor people, you understand, I just don't have an appetite to join them. As Woody Allen once put it, - “Given the choice between wealth or poverty I would always choose wealth, if only for financial reasons”). I couldn't put it clearer than that if I tried. You try if you want to, but I'm not for trying – though some might think I am trying. The old ones are the best!
I am feeling delirious.
Suddenly the door swung open and in walked some bloke, my only co-sweater. As we sat and perspired in unison, I decided to enter into conversation, with him rather than myself, lest he thought me mad. I mentioned to him that since I have been using the sauna, I have hardly ever had a cold, and what colds have threatened, have been very short lived.
I am not superstitious, but nevertheless I felt the urge to touch lots of wood. This was not difficult as I was reclining on a wooden slatted bench. My sweaty companion replied that my statement was very dangerous, that I should not say things like that, and I was tempting fate. He was right.
That night, I retired to bed feeling happy and relaxed. I awoke in the early hours of the morning feeling somewhat odd, with a rough feeling developing in my throat, a slight shiveryness pervading my body and the words “Oh bugger” being repeated over and over again in my mind.
Yesterday I went to work feeling somewhat frayed at the edges and not in the best of moods. Perhaps I should have stayed away, but as one who others look to for an example I felt I owed it to them to set the example of perseverance against all odds. On the other hand, there is always the danger of sharing my infection with my colleagues, so its a bit of an awkward tightrope to walk. However, on the basis that the air is already no doubt laden with all these bugs, I didn't really think my presence would really makes much difference, so long as I didn't walk around sneezing over everybody.
Today I returned to work again, heavily dosed up on Max Strength kill everything fluid. Now, if it actually did do the job as it says on the pack, then given how I have been feeling today, I can only assume that I should be dead.
You will, no doubt, have realised by now, that I am suffering from that most common and deadly disease of all - a Man Cold. There is no ailment on this planet which causes as much misery as this most horrible of diseases. As I sit here suffering, my cheeks are burning (the ones on my face), my nose (dose) is running, my head feels heavy, my throat is getting steadily rougher, my eyes feel sore and tired and sinking into their sockets. In short, I am descending into the knacker's yard. Even worse than all this, there is some serious TV drama being played out in front of me and I have not only lost the plot, I never had it in the first place. I might make it through the night. We'll see what effect another shot of Max Strength killing fluid will do.
I'm going to bed. I might be gone some time.
Please feel sorry for me.
January Expletives Continue - I am supposed to be in London right now. Daniel Kitson is doing a gig at the Battersea Arts Centre tonight and I have had tickets for months. I was suppose...
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