Jul 05, 2010 22:04
You know, I don't really mind the husky voice that comes from having a (in nearly every other way) quite mild cold. I could probably make money out of it, if Fielding (or was it Harradine?) hadn't eviscerated the home-grown Australian phone-sex industry.
However, I would quite like it if, for once, my very mild cold wasn't accompanied by THAT cough. Yep, that one where I attempt to evert my lungs like frog do their stomachs. The one that makes people really seriously ask if I'm okay and not going to die soon. The one that makes me feel like I'm doing that thing the early Everest (not-quite) climber did when he coughed the lining of his trachea into his hand.
I would like to point out to the Universe that it was not my fault I got kicked out of the club on Saturday night into the freezing night air. I was not the one that set the club on fire, okay? It was probably a careless chef. Thus turning my very mild cold into the death cough was not my fault.
Also, glandular fever and the subsequent, permanent damage to my throat/tonsils is not a cool thing.
In most other ways (particularly those involving a month until Africa!) life is rather spiffing.
Also, Tour. To which I now hie to watch.
A