The mid-August Lurgy has struck me down this week. Having said that I'm still a high functioning vacuum cleaning expert and a regular operator of the wonky tumble drier. Things could be a lot worse though; I have now failed a third Covid test, I'm continuing on in the dull tradition of failing O Level Maths in 1970 and a few driving and intelligence tests along the way. I'm clearly in a muddy rut of eternal looping. Like the rest of the world I thought I might have the wee Covid bug but it's just regular man-flu so no heroic credit can be claimed.
My strategy has been to fight it with an extreme diet of anchovies and Beecham's Powders, as your dead granny, who you always suspected was a witch, might have done. This salty drug and oily protein combination administered via sour dough toast isn't really making any difference but I still remain a fan of alternative medicines and lunch breaks.
I also have a suspected "yellow tongue" infection. This means I can only use words that are close to the middle of the colour spectrum so am relying upon the goodness of robot tills and elaborate Italian style arm and hand gestures when out and about in the real world. As a result I've deliberately spent most of the week in my own imaginary world but you'd never be able to tell any difference.
As I write this drivel the cat has mistaken me for a bed and my laptop keyboard for a piano in a feline speakeasy where he thinks he has been hired to entertain the other hep-cats and pussies. This intolerable situation makes typing impossible ...
No comments:
Post a Comment