Twas the day after Christmas...

I did get loads of things for Christmas: I did get a bottle of whisky and a T-shirt and a Digital Camcorder – for a super secret project coming soon to a blog near you – and a tube of Jelly Tots* and a book and some maple toffees... But the gift that made the biggest impact upon me on the 25th was from whatever bastard gave me a stinking cold. Thanks mate.

Scratchy-can’t-speak-or-swallow throat; a nose that drips and snotters one minute and is bunged up with araldite the next; and a head stuffed full of burning marshmallows. The perfect Christmas day combination. OK, so I couldn’t taste half my haul of festive goodies, but if I stood up quickly it was like drinking a pint of tequila! Wheeeee... only without quite the same desire to vomit. Nearly, but not quite.

I usually get ill over the Christmas break. Soon as work stops I’m sniffing and coughing away. I used to think it was the sudden release from stress. No more work to worry about, body can have that nasty viral infection it’s been looking forward to all year. Hurrah! Bogies for everyone.

But this year it’s even more of a pain between the ears than normal – I’ve not finished work yet. In fact, I’ve still got a heap of stuff to do before I put my feet up. And even then I’m going to be charging headfirst, like a snot-filled rhino, into Logan’s third adventure in Aberdeen fun land.

In short: I don’t have time to be ill. Would someone like to be ill for me, so I can get on with things, please?

* Because Christmas isn’t Christmas without Jelly Tots and anyone who tells you different is an agent of Satan. And a lying bastard.