This is the mugshot of the little bastid that’s been ravaging my body for the past few days.
At first I wasn’t sure if it was a nasty cold or the beginnings of the flu that's been doing the rounds but the symptoms seem to indicate an invasion of the the latter. Armed with their F-16s and Apache helicopters, these fuckas are launching white phosphorous bombs and taking out my lung-lining like it’s Lucy Pinder. All I’m armed with is some poor wee scillia doing their feeble best to expel the infection but getting mashed by the superior firepower of the aggressor virus, the nasty, nippy, little overblown emissaries of pain.
Thursday was the worst. I was faint, hallucinating (quite nice, actually), delirious, bronchitic, shivering, aching all over and unable to sit upright.
I’ve been in bed dosing with Lemsip and snuggling up to hot-water bottles (hello, rubber!) to burn out the fever. Heating’s turned up despite the punishing cost of staying warm now that our utilities are all owned by Big Business (thanks Tory John Major and New Labour!!!)
Today I'm feeling a bit better, thanks for asking. Unfortunately, it's probably the variety that makes you think it’s gone and you're on the road to recovery. Then it returns bringing all its friends and has a party in your twitching corpse.
STOP PRESS
Blogger-on-the-spot Harpy Marx just texted me at 13:40 to say there were 100,000 on today's march in London.
