I'm writing this from what might well turn out to be my death-bed. I have the flu, and I bloody hate it. I haven't had the flu in ages and I'm terrible at being sick. Even though I'm mad lazy, I still like to be able to get up and do whatever I need to do, without feeling like I'm literally falling apart.
Bah.
I slept for about thirteen hours yesterday evening, into this morning. And I've only gotten out of bed to hack up a lung and use the facilities. At least Mr Bunny is looking after me...sort of. He slept on the settee last night, so he wouldn't get sick, which is fair enough. But this morning he came up to check up on me, and he asked me if I wanted anything. So I said I'd like some tonic water and a cup of tea. He vanished downstairs and I've only just seen him, three hours later. So he's being dispatched to the shop to fetch me some Lucozade.
But he needs to hurry back, because our new washing machine comes today and I'm in no state to let anyone in. At least I have my new telly in my bedroom, so I'm here watching a Colombo marathon, in between bouts of conciousness. So, not all bad then...
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