Flupocalypse 07.
Yergh. I haven't felt this awful since I had glandular fever (that's Brit-talk for mononucleosis) back in '92. Like, wobbly-legged, washed-out, energy-sapped, randomly achey and generally utterly pathetic. I had started to feel better yesterday afternoon but instead of a decent night's sleep was treated to fever redux. S'all right; I gave up on sleep, watched Tank Girl and lay there whining gently, like a Dickensian orphan having his porridge bowl confiscated, instead. Passed the time, y'know. Slowly.

This is a stupid, weird flu, and in the interest of paranoia and slightly less boring blog entries I'm going to assume it's yet another in a long-line of oopses/oh shits/tee hees from Porton Down or whichever of those unsecret government farm disease lab down south has recently been leaking diseases on a weekly basis, seemingly for fun and profit. See, my symptoms, if added to my recurring itchy eye-thing that reoccured last week basically add up to a watered-down sort of bird 'flu. And I did eat chicken last week.

Yes, I'm feeling a trifle more perky now than earlier on, which I suspect is mainly due to caffeine ingestion that much else. My sum total of food ingested today is one soft-boiled egg and one warm mince pie and that in itself implies I'm not quite right. Anyway, I sit here in anticipation of what the virus will visit on me tonight. Will I leak myserious fluids or have my head spin 180 degrees on my shoulder or will it be another boring evening of hugging my space heater like it's Christian Bale's twin brother?