mr. zilla goes to town

Saturday, February 04, 2006

winter of discontent

You would think that as friends and readers you would be spared the worst when I come down with a cold. Separated by a few or a few thousand miles, you don't have to sit by and put up with the sniffling, the nose blowing, the strepsil-sucking, the strepsil-chomping, the tossing and turning, the tickling in the chest that erupts into a stutter of coughs like an engine on a cold morning. All these are a royal pain in the arse and and make me just a charm to be around, and as they're going into their sixth day now there's no doubt that you're fortunate to be at more than arm's length. Particularly since there are about half a dozen tissues within arms length at the moment. Eww.

Now I wouldn't want you to feel I didn't love you all enough to include you in this where I can, so it's fortunate that the worst symptom of all without a doubt is the awful self-pitying male-pattern moaning and complaing about it all, that I seem to have about as much control over as a leaky nose. My god, it is pathetic to behold. Still, since I've got to drag myself out to the shops for more lemsip -- and probably into the office as well for a few hours -- maybe just take the rest of it as read, yeah? Cheers.

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