What’s worse that swollen infected tonsils?
Swollen infected tonsil stump scars.
It’s that time of year when you become painfully aware the map of the inside of your head is bigger than the map of outside it, as you wander around feeling discomfort in places that appear to be floating around a short distance outside you as much as within you.
Physically then, in poor shape, oozing green ickiness like something from 1984 tea-time telly and with a recurrent foot injury that could beat Michael Owen’s hamstrings hands down if feet had hands that could beat hamstrings and wanted to.
Oh woe is me, I’m sure no else I know has any foot injuries or a tendency to get phlegmy, whatsoever.
I’m going to go away and count my blessings, arrange them in order and then dismiss them one by one cynically as worthless until I get bored or cheer up.
Oh and my pedometer battery’s gone flat- you’d think they could make one like those self-winding wrist watches wouldn’t you? At the very least they could do a freeplay one which you could attach a giant handle to and knacker your arm charging up.
Anyone would think they were just like us, moping around not doing things expecting some other thems to get on with everything.