There's a lesson in here somewhere about the inadvisibility of gloating about having lots of time off: karma will always bite you in the nether portions. I spent Saturday feeling vaguely sick and whiny but supposed it would be like most colds, wherein I feel miserable for a couple of days and then carry on, tank-like.
Instead, this turned into a thorough-going disaster. Five days of earache so bad I can't sleep, inability to breathe, a sore throat, streaming eyes and coughing. I couldn't do much of anything, except I had to be out of the house every day before 9am for hospital appointments and visits that could not be put off. This seemed cruel and unusual. I lost my voice and was only able to emit a faint, farting parp of a laugh and some strange hissing sounds in lieu of conversation.
You can tell I'm much better today because I'm feeling very cheerful, having a good wallow in my own misery and thanking the lord that I don't have pneumonia like some of you poor souls. It's one of those things I would have called flu until I actually caught flu once and realised how that's quite a distance from a mere cold. I don't get ill at all often so I like to make the most of the self-pity opportunities.
Meanwhile, I've been up to the hospital and had a bit chopped out of my leg. That was also less fun that you might think. I'm not allowed to get the stitches wet for 48 hours. I suppose that duct-taping a Sainsbury's bag around my calf so I can get a bloody shower isn't really on.
Today I'm just sort of knackered and reeking of Olbas Oil and oozing from various facial orifices. It's really very attractive.
As I caught the bus amid the great unwashed of our nation's fair capital two lads were excitedly discussing (I think) the unfortunate liquid-based sexual fetishes of a certain footballer, which made me wonder if there are people who fetishise snot, given that almost any other fluid or household object is game for the fevered sexual attentions of someone or other.
Do strange little men in grubby raincoats approach Ladies Who Are Not Waiting For The Bus and ask to be coughed on?
"'Ere, darlin', have you got a cold?"
"Is it really bad? Do you want to … sneeze?"
"Might do. What you offerin'?"
"Is your nose dripping? Do you want ... a tissue? Would you like to …" Inarticulate sound of lust "…give it a blow? "
"You filthy sod"
"I suppose a pholcodeine's out of the question?"
*cough* Anyway. If they do, I'm sure there's a support group on the internet, where they happily discuss Benylin and Tixylix and the best uses of Vicks Vaporub, and people get into fights over the best brand of tissue then claim that the lurkers support them in email.
ETA: And the internet will provide in our time of nosiness
* * *
Aside from feeling like three slices of wet arse on a shit sandwich and not being able to get anything done, I'm actually having a pretty fortunate week:
1) While I was a bit out of commission, some lovely person gave me a year's supply of user pictures, which was exceedingly kind and most unexpected. If the person doesn't wish to remain anonymous, I'd be happy to make icons or something as a thank you.
2) Thanks to some kind of tax loophole thingie, I've got hold of an 80GB, 512MB RAM 17" iMac G5 via the government's IT Through Work scheme. It's a lease-to-buy sort of thing which means you pay about £ less than the retail value and after three years you hold the ownership outright. Meanwhile, there's a three-year warranty. God bless you, Gordon Brown.
It is, let us be frank, an utterly beautiful piece of design and so fast. You stick a CD in to import the tracks and it just sucks them down like a bad sexual metaphor. You can get a CD imported in about 30 seconds. I have an inappropriate level of love for it.
ETA: Though I appear to have hit my first IT difficulty while attempting to import Elton John Greatest Hits for the Bad Seventies Section of my iTunes playlist -- it hung up. When my car got stolen, I had *that very CD* in the car. And the thieves stole the CD player from the wrecked car but took the CD out of the player and left it in the car (to which my mother said "I'm not bloody surprised". She's not an Elton fan) The only possible conclusion is that the Elton John CD has bad juju and should be exorcised. Or possibly sold. I don't even like it that much anyway.
Now iTunes is happily sucking on Peter Gabriel [insert yer own double entendre here] and it seems to be working out fine.
3) The government has decided that my tax returns are so tedious and monothematic that they're not going to require me to fill one in for the next four years unless my circumstances change hugely or I make shedloads of money. Unlikely. *dances*
I hope you are all well and cheery as we head towards the holiday season in much the same way as a lemming approaches vertiginous windy places. xsabx, it's lovely to see you about again.