To quote my old mate Brian, the Codfather, "I've got the right pox with things."
Early this week I felt the first tickling around the nasal region.
You know the indistinct yet irritating little tickle you get around the sinuses that presage flu or one of its only slightly less nasty fucking siblings, the full-blown head cold.
The kind of viral cold that creates a veritable Niagara Falls of snot; a throat so sore it's as though someone has been hacking away at it with a blunt 2" paring chisel; coughing fits the violence of which could serve as the score to a budget mountain cabin chain-massacre B-movie; nasal congestion that could compete with a traffic snarl-up on the Euston Road at 4.30 pm on a summer Friday running into bank-holiday weekend; sneezing fits that project great strings of snot in all directions; my head is full of Bowler-Hatted Billy Boys Bigots banging their Lambeg drums as they march triumphantly to the beat of their historical hatred across my grey matter; a fever that's confusingly competing with our sultry summer night heat; and a feeling of overall shittiness dosed every couple of hours with a cocktail of Lemsip and poitín.
Add to this a red-hot pain between the shoulders and down the neck; and, so as not to feel left out of things the sacrum and lumbar regions have come out in sympathy - as though secondary picketing was legal!
Add to this a red-hot pain between the shoulders and down the neck; and, so as not to feel left out of things the sacrum and lumbar regions have come out in sympathy - as though secondary picketing was legal!
I'm off to bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Tags