I haven’t visited anywhere particularly envirnmentally hazardous of late regards catching some sort of bastard cold, but like the goldfish found on someone’s lawn in the North east last week I have absolutely no idea why I have found myself in this fog off illness. Sort throat leading to a feeling of discomfort in and around the ears, threatening to pop at any time, tearing into the harshness of harsh sound unimagined and which I’m quite sure doesn’t exist, but thats the feeling. I left work on Tuesday feeling nauseous and lightheaded, drove home absentmindedly and took far too long prompting a rush to my bed and falling asleep in a cold sweat of jeans, polo shirt and work fleece. Wednesday morning I felt slightly less worse and as we had a company wide activity day my thinking of a drive down to Abergavenny followed by a gentle 8 mile walk along the canal towpaths and disused railway lines past industrial sites of the past in the shadow of the Blorenge would presumably perk me up. The fact that after my 8 miles I could no longer speak, such was the scratchings of the glass within my throat and seemingly endless production of thick mucoid matter from my lungs; once again my drive home was unfortunate and if carefully thought about should probably not have been permitted. Fortunately I only had to concentrate driving through Hereford as school had terminated and the traffic was heavy, horned and indecisive; it is at these times that one has to be particularly vigilant, of kerb balls spilling out of post school affrays into the road and prompting evasive driving manoeuvres. 

Yep the drive home was sketchy, and I had to choose my shop to stop at carefully, for the least time needed to queue, the easiest to park and cheapness thrown in, knowing full well the garage shop in Bromyard is an absolute money pit of a shop, cans of pop coming in at £2, water £2, fruit juices at £3, I know insane right? We can’t let these bastards force up the North Herefordshire Pop prices to those  reminiscent of a southern service station, I ended up in a Morrisons express as it happened and had to pull out of a queue because I’d forgotten bread, such is the curse of a man with a mind on the edge of delirium, desperately trying to get home for his bed. 

Sleeping a lot now, feeling mute due to a sore throat, and hoping for some respite for my Friday Pints, hair washed, showered and sitting in my bed in jeans and a T shirt, guzzling lemsip every couple of hours to soothe the pain but  blocking up my pipes in a paracetamol induced constipation. Not that you need to know but I do so hate being rocked from my constitutional regularity, you’ll understand when you get to my age.