Flying close to the sun...

Flying close to the sun...

OK, I've been slack... but I'm sick of snot trails on my keyboard and psychedelic cough spots on my monitor screen, however prismatic. Colour is not everything...

I'm better, what ever that means, and of course depends entirely on what one uses as a yardstick to measure the original better-than-what period. So I'm marginally better than when I was worse, ok? That clear?

Th' missus is still a bit crook, although she bowled over a third of a bottle of Scotch last night. And a chicken liver pasta sauce over fettucine, followed by a sardine sandwich for supper. Not bad for someone who's moaning about her health.

I'm writing bugger all... nothing of consequence, anyway. Dittys and a bit of tired doggerel. Haven't written a story in two weeks... am I all wrote out, I wonder? If I am, I'll just find something else to waste my Golden Years on... no problem. You know, I was asked once if I backed up my writing on the PC... at the time I didn't, and pondered on how I might feel if the Computer God struck my hard drive a terminal blow. I have to say that the idea didn't really bother me... so what? If it goes, it goes. (Gallic shrug here.)

That's all the drivel for today... time for another drinkie.

Flying close to the sun...

Flying close to the sun...

I've been sick. I'm still sick. Not, as you may sneeringly suggest, in the head, but with coughing, headaches, snot, and ennui. So it's not termina.... that doesn't mean I have to enjoy it.

No sleep, no food and no booze for almost three days is unheard of, but tonight I'm having a tentaive glass of wine. My SO has been caring for me well... inspite of the fact that she's not yet fully recovered from a dose of the lurgy herself.. was an unselfish little pom she is.

Righto.. the Simpsons are on so I'm off.