Wednesday, 19 December 2012

In which our hero discovers that things get worse before they get better

Oh lord. It's got even worse. I woke up around ten times last night, alternately freezing cold and sweatingly hot, and finally at 6 this morning tried to get up and failed. My muscles ache, my nose is stuffed and my head is aching as though I drank four bottles of champagne. As I didn't, it seems really quite unfair that I'm suffering the hangover from hell. If I'm not better by tonight I propose getting rascally drunk; if I am going to feel rotten in the morning I might as well deserve it.

So today has been spent drinking litres of water, nibbling on a baguette - and I mean nibbling, I can normally wolf them down in minutes and this one has lasted me an hour - and trying to avoid bright lights. I'm typing on a laptop with the lights turned all the way down and with the curtains drawn. In short, I am an unwell and unhappy bunny.

I also can't find good leek and potato soup. I'm tempted to try to make my own, even though I'm going home on Saturday. I'm going home on Saturday! I've already been asked to bring back a tin of golden syrup.

I'm going to curl up again. If you hear nothing from me tomorrow, I have died. Somebody else must send over a tin of golden syrup.

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