It is a standing joke in my family that my Dad and I react to illness in very different ways. He crawls away like sick dog and hides. Once, on a ferry, he did that so sucessfully that, when my Mum couldn't find him after they had docked and their car was blocking the flow of traffic off the boat, the staff became convinced he had fallen overboard and Mum became appropriately panicked. Turns out he had crawled under a stairwell, lain down on the floor and fallen asleep.
Me? Well the whole word needs to know I am ill. And now look - I have a blog at my disposal to make sure that very thing happens!
My noes is running faster than Ben Johnson on speed. And I am not far behind getting to the bathroom. My throat is as sore (in the American usage of the word) as a British primeminister told recently by Mandela that he will be remembered as Bush's foreign minister and I have the kind of earache that I imagine Hilary gave Bill.
I AM NOT WELL!!!!!
Plus I made it to the post office - cum - convenience store but couldn't face the three extra yards to the chemist so I bought 'Spa Soft Tissues' which are about as soft as Rambo. Anyone need a sleigh pulling tonight?