Goodnight nurse

Having bravely seen off first edition this morning, I struggled home and succumbed to a really vicious, muscle-twisting, fever-pitch, axe-in-the-head flu. Why does bad flu make you groan? (Or maybe that's just me.) The day has passed like a kind of nightmare, me lying in bed fully dressed while Sky drifts in and out with all the worst news in a long time. Still, I have improved a bit this evening, and after lying on the La-Z-Boy channel flipping, have dragged myself into the typist's chair to blog aimlessly.

I almost never get ill. This is a once-in-ten-years event. But being a typical kind of bloke, I really need someone to fuss over me and unfortunately there isn't anyone around to do that. I thought of phoning my Pilates instructor Justine because she's so empathetic, but it seemed a bit of a cheek. And she is seven months pregnant. When she kneels on my back to unkink me she feels pretty heavy now.

So here I am, over the groaning now, although it still feels like someone worked me over with a baseball bat. Pathetic, really. The worst part right now is that I don't feel like eating anything. Which is good, objectively. OK, end of moan, reader, I roped you into my misery and I don't even feel bad about it.

I'm going to scan the DVD collection for a suitable movie. Can't figure out what will work. High Fidelity? Mmm. Record fanatic (like me) loses girlfriend ... maybe not. The new James Bond collection released by MGM? Too painful for the old head. Eric Rohmer, here I come.