It’s been a tough few days.
Monday was the emotional tragedy of the Brighton defeat.
Tuesday I was forced to visit The Ivy to hobnob with… with everyone else hoping to be hob-nobbing with the rich and famous but who had to make do with me and M and Kevin and Louise. For the record, the meal was great, and even the bill wasn’t quite the sledgehammer-to-the-kidneys moment that I was expecting it to be.
Then dashed off to the National Theatre for Henry V. It seems unlikely that Shakespeare would have specified that the king should ride around Agincourt in a jeep with a machine-gun slung over his shoulder, but it seemed to work nevertheless. In retrospect however, not an experience ideally suited to a humid night after a large meal…
Then yesterday evening, more drama, as I became quite badly ill. More than ill. Disastrously YOU BASTARDS! sort of ill. It happens every year or so. It last visited me just here, when I was training for the London Marathon. Severe stomach pains. Oh God, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone apart from George Bush and the traffic wardens of Reading town centre. Totally crippling. Up all night. Couldn’t sleep. breathe, lie down, stand up, read, think…. horrible.
Started to subside around lunchtime today.
Slept all afternoon. Fantastic.
