Lead-lined coughing

I'm ill!  Well, not that ill, but ill enough to warrant a day off yesterday.  I didn't feel able to make the ride in, and so reasoned I was insufficiently well to justify going in at all.  I'd simply be doing the germs' work for them.  No, instead I stayed at home.

Sickies, as I'm sure I've pointed out before, are a rarity for me.  I don't get ill much and even when I do, I don't like poncing around at home.  I've far too much residual Catholic guilt to enjoy that.  So I always make a point of doing something constructive with my time at home.  Yesterday, I shielded the control cavity of a 1974 Stratocaster.  This is the perfect pastime for am ailing man.  I was able to work from the dining table in the kitchen, nice and close to the radiator.  It took me about 5 hours to complete the task, during which time I estimate I drank a little over an imperial gallon of tea.

It was lovely being at home.  It was a sunny day, so I was able to stare at the garden during tea breaks.  I know it betrays a certain lack of drive and ambition, but I'd love to be retired.  Pottering around all day, drinking tea and eating Jaffa Cakes?  Yes, please.  The Rev. Sydney Smith once averred that we should all do what life intended for us.  He's quite right.  Some of us are cast in the role of earnest office Johnnie.  I am not.  I pottered, drink tea and think great thoughts.  I just need to a European monarch to put me on a generous retainer as his or her court philosopher in order that I might have sufficient funds for nibbles and treats etc., and I'll get on with head-scratching.

Just what the doctor ordered

I felt like shit this time yesterday - so bad in fact that I didn't think I'd make it to work today.  I take absenteeism seriously; it's a legacy of a Catholic upbringin.  For me even to consider having a sickie requires my feeling truly terrible.  I was exhausted when I reached home last night, so the game was definitely afoot.

The missus was late-ish home, but we decided to pop out for a pre-show cocktail nonetheless.  After returning home, I threw caution to the wind and spent the rest of the evening eating fine foods and drinking fine wines to my heart's content.  I didn't go to bed until nearly midnight, convinced I'd be phoning in sick this morning.  I woke up after 7 hour's undulating and watery sleep (I was woken by a bluebottle.  In February??) feeling much much better, however.  Hmm...chilli, wine and good telly appear to have steadied the ship.  That's good news...I think

Pity Poor Tom

I have a cold.  Bah.  It's a bad one too - bunged heed, runny nose and sore throat.  I thought I had hay fever, but this is a cold.  I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, and was so shattered of body and spirit this morning that I had to pull sickie.  It was merited though.  No really, I have enough residual catholic guilt not to go sick from work unless I absolutely cannot drag my skinny white ass into the office.

But I've filled the chassis up with paracetamol and tea and have rallied a bit.  It's nice being at home during the day, isn't it?  I haven't turned the telly on though.  That way madness and indolence lays.

What to do for tea though?