Fever

I'm still sick. For a while my throat was the problem. Not only was it painful to swallow and felt like I'd borrowed a bullfrog's gullet, but the closest approximation of the taste in my mouth was the smell of fake tan, if that makes sense. But now my lungs have shriveled up to the size of raisins and the taste is still there!

Last night as the sun went down my temperature shot up, and I started yammering crazy non-stop to the Ours, a reluctant but captive audience in our one bedroom flat. I talk a lot at the best of times - sometimes I don't even pause for breath and eventually pass out in social situations - but yesterday I didn't even pretend to engage the Ours in a conversation, I just launched into feverishly earnest rant after rant.

Topics included how I was going to get the Ours in a headlock, if Knut's parents needed to watch panda porn before getting down to it, how Watchdog is not only the best but the most important programme on British tv today, and how I could definitely pin the Ours to the ground in a wrestling move, in fact I was going to pounce on him at any moment and he would be completely powerless, what does he think about that huh, HUH?...at this stage only dogs could hear me and I was put to bed like a misbehaving toddler.

I am feeling a little better today though as my fever broke during the night. Luckily for everyone involved, as I am five foot nothing and the Ours is over six foot tall.