Perhaps I shouldn't have made those frivolous references to SARS and cholera last week. I'm getting my karmic punishment now.
There has been little blogging - and almost no merriment - this week, because I have gone down with a stinker of a cold. I can't remember the last time I felt this ill: feeble, lethargic, feverish, trembling, wracked by a vicious headache and aches and pains in just about every joint and muscle; the glands in my throat are the size of apples; I've been sleeping so badly, I'm practically hallucinating.
I went to the Cinco de Drinko on Tuesday (rumoured to be the last ever - boo!), and soon regretted it. I was popping cold remedy pills in between the beers, but it wasn't doing much good, and by 9pm I'd nearly lost my voice; so I had to croak my apologies and head home.
48 hours spent mostly moping under the covers and moaning seems to have taken the edge off it, but I'm still feeling pretty ropey.
I won't be venturing out for any pre-Olympic parties tonight. And I rather fear I won't be going anywhere to watch The Big Show tomorrow either. Rats!
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