I am feeling ill.

I have been ill this week. It started when I woke up in the early hours of Tuesday morning. That in itself is a sign that something is terribly wrong because I never willingly wake up in the early hours of anything at all unless fire has started lapping at my bedclothes. I had a terrifically sore throat and a touch of fever. I'd like to say I had outrageous sweats and was shivering uncontrollably whilst curled up prone underneath my duvet in the foetal position, but I choose at this point to go along the manly road less travelled and downplay my agony somewhat.

The train ride into work was uneventful - which is actually an event in itself, paradoxically enough. The unusual is so usual that the usual becomes in itself unusual to the point that the usual and the unusual have swapped places and you don't know which one is which. Rather like that Disney comedy 'The Parent Trap' which starred Lindsay Lohan twice, back when she was cute and carefree and hadn't turned into a human bedpan. Like I said - the train ride into work was uneventful, although I don't like being stared at like I'm some sort of sweaty-trousered pervert - it may have been half right, but I couldn't help it.

The reasons for my frailties are such: when I do stuff I get tired, when I get tired I need lots of sleep, if I don't get lots of sleep I get ill. I believe this is the case for many people but I have astonishingly low tolerances and hence invest a great deal of time in making sure that I am asleep. This is largely a passive effort, apart from the odd half hour each evening - aside from when I have a sore throat or my pyjamas are ablaze.

I don't much like being ill, but I soldier gallantly on - my mum always forced me up and at 'em, even if I was on the point of death. She was good like that, instilled a healthy work ethic. She sent me to school once when a wound on my forehead had gone septic and my face was swollen to the extent that I could barely squeeze my glasses on. I'm a fighter, who nowadays would have been taken into care at the first sign of neglect. PC poppycock, I say - what harm did it do me? I'll answer that when I'm feeling better.