Since moving to Bournemouth at the end of July last year I had not been ill – bar one moment of madness that lasted a few hours and was swiftly slept off. Of course, when it rolled around to being my birthday this year my body decided that right then and there was the perfect time to capitulate to whatever sniffles the plebs had decided to try and infect me with. I was not amused.
But then, just to add illness to illness, my body has decided once more it will piss me about a bit and make me feel – as I’ve been describing it to any and all – a bit squiffy. Again. For no discernable reason, other than those godawful things called “people” out there are weak enough to get these illnesses and stupid enough to breathe out near me.
You know who I’m talking about – I’M LOOKING AT YOU. I won’t forget this. You’ve made me ill for the last time.
So I’m going to run away, as all the greats of our world do, and go into hiding. While I haven’t yet finalised the Spruce Goose plans*, I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with something else in time. Probably just hiding in a pit until everyone else has died of their various ailments, like the filth that they are.
Sweden could be a good bolt-hole. Just for a day or so. It might impair my ability to do the blogs, as is the norm with running away like this, but the clean air and beautiful people might do me the world of good. And if not, sod it. I tried. For once.
*SIMPSONS DID IT.