17th Jan - Virus! (No, not that one)

I woke up today, early, and with every aim of smashing through a lengthy yet super-productive day. But whilst doing so, I found myself shivering, and immediately crawled under a blanket whilst also battling a curious case of nausea for the 3rd sunrise in a row. Morning sickness? It would certainly account for the abdominal girth. At first, I'd attributed this constant feeling of impending vom to the hangover, but 72 hours? Not even Michael Barrymore's recoveries take that long. 

I embarked on the familiar process... Up the nostrils, down the throat, a sure-fire way to transport myself from gag-city to puke-town. Convinced I'd been done up the Omicron, I sat patiently, waiting, and defecating... Like a dog with worms for the past weekend. But the test came back like a ClearBlue, just one red dash in the window... I'd avoided the 'Rona 2.0, a devilish sequel to my Delta duel a year ago. I sat, puzzled, wondering why my body felt frail and lifeless. But through the pandemic paranoia, we've perhaps managed to gain amnesia in common medical ailments. 

The flu, a virus, tonsillitis, and so on. Such is the mass hysteria now when sneezing out loud, that a cough in a public place is akin to an AK-47 firing off rounds in a primary school. My own particular blogging skills may not be at their zestful best this week, and for that I apologise. Because all I want - neigh, need - to do right now, is collapse into bed and snooze the pain away. Am I a melodramatic man who believes he's on death's door when hit by a cold? Perhaps. Do I regret such behaviour? Absolutely not. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to embark on the ever-fruitful game-show... 
Out of which end will I chunder first?