The moment Paris left, I started this very nasty cold. But I did mountains of laundry. On Thursday I went to golf, looking for sympathy. Didn't get any.
Then I discovered that the Solo's golf trip to Spain for New Year was sold out. So I signed up for a trip to Turkey at the end of February. Everything included - golf, food, snacks, drinks (local stuff, but I'm not too fussy as long as it's alcoholic) - so something to look forward to.
Friday came, and I forced myself out of my sick bed to stagger up to the golf club. The dozen blokes waiting for a game heard me croaking and coughing and suggested that I went out first in a one-ball. But no. I went out as normal and took the money, thanks to an excellent short game. Eight pars (Tiger would look for that many birdies, but that's what he is paid handsomely to do), but so unwell that I couldn't force down the last of my pint. I said I wasn't well!
No interest in food, but I had to go to the supermarket to replenish my empty fridge. Then there was England and Wales on the box, losing at rugby to Australia and New Zealand. Not madly exciting. But Burnley got a 3-3 at Man City. That's good!
What a bore I am. OK, still am. Is it what they call "loss of affect"? I can't even go to bed early because millions of quidsworth of fireworks are being exploded in the neighbourhood. I don't know why they don't all go the the Heath to watch the spectacular show put on the the council to curry favour with the ratepayers.
OK. I've made the token posting, and I will shortly take the LemSip route to bed. My cold is quite debilitating. Happily I can feel the waves of sympathy coming over the ether. Thanks, folks.
