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.

The afternoon before Christmas...

I'm at work.  It's Christmas Eve, and, as you'd expect, the office is vee quiet.  I work for a newspaper, and Xmas Day is the one day of the year that our industry traditionally draws breath.  I'm alone in my department too.  It's an odd experience, working on days like this.  It's sort of fun, in that it's different and certainly less pressured than proper works days.  But there's also that strange feeling of missing out.  You can't help thinking that the rest of humanity is having a rare old time, necking sherry in front of a roaring open fire while Bing Crosby croons from the mantelpiece.  I'm sure the truth is catastrophically more prosaic than that.  They're all probably watching shit telly and eating Jaffa Cakes.

The plan is to leave very shortly.  I don't know what I'm planning to do with the rest of the afternoon though.  I can't go shopping without having to be restrained by by armed officers and a Taser.  And I hate watching television in the afternoons.  I find it disspiriting...and common.

I might clean the oven.  Merry Christmas.