Well...that all went swimmingly, wonderful weekend down in Londonshire and Sussexshire; and a super christening. The service itself was churchy, when aren't they (?), and I had the certain 'ham sandwich at a Barmitzvah' feeling. Ben helped by swearing halfway through, you can always trust our Australian cousins to take the edge off solemn moments.
So, back in Scotlandshire....and have been as sick as a dog for the last three days. Coughing up massive grehms of phelgm, shitting headache, achy joints and earache. I feel like a total wreck. Even worse, I'm actually beginning to wish I was well enough to go into work. Yes, it has got that bad. Have been doing the odd bit working from home, this new gaff is strangely conducive to such things. The telly has stayed firmly off, although the fact that there is nothing but fucking tennis or Bargain Hunt on has played a role in that.
Popped out earlier to buy a potato masher and a bottle of malt whisky (as you do), it's mad what being indoors for 3 days does to you. I couldn't wait to get back in, all those horrible cars and people getting in my way. Could this be Stage 1 of agoraphobia? I think not - it's just that time alone exagerrates my already full-blown misanthropy.
Away sailing on Monday, so I intend to have a quiet weekend, doing not much at all. It would be wrong of me to take time of work through illness then mae myself worse by overdoing it on the weekend.
Wouldn't it?
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