A truncated post today as I'm (a) as busy as a one-legged waiter on a trampoline and (b) I'm not feeling tip top.
The reason for the under-the-weatherness is clear to me: everyone in my air-conditioned office is coughing and spluttering with some wretched seasonal lurgy, and try as I might, I cannot escape their microbes.
Air conditioning is the greatest drain on the productivity of the UK since the Second World War. I'm pretty robust when it comes to seeing off germs. I exercise; my diet is good etc. And yet I am laid waste to several times a year by colds. You can imagine then what the same maladies do to the army of sedentary weeds I work with. Most of them spend the winter months huddled in wheelchairs in sanatoriums in the Swiss Alps, with tasselled hats and tartan blankets for succour.
Why can't we just open the fcuking windows? That used to work okay bee-in-the-dee. We won't jump out; I promise. Well, I might, but I'm unusual in this regard.
Right: linctus.
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