Stuffed full of cold. After a night of mouth-breathing, I wake dehydrated and sounding like Barry White. Manage this the best way I know how - a large coffee and a run. Kill or cure.
May have underestimated this one. Rather more kill than cure. So the rest of the day has been subdued. Adrenalin-free elements include an undemanding walk around the park, an omelette, a crossword, and a programme about criminal forensics in Luton.
Essentially I have become a pensioner for the day. Time to turn the radio on way too loud. If I had a Mr Kipling apple pie (which I would do, if I were the classic pensioner), I might be able to manage half. I'd save the rest for next week.
Yes. I know. Ageist stereotyping. Not my fault. I'm ill, I tell you. ILL! Diminished responsibility through illness.
Off to paint a cock on a public building.
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