Just made the schoolgirl mistake of assuming that windows would stay up long enough to not avoid losing my post. Bill Gates - you cunt. It's always the same - whenever you lose a whole bunch of stuff it's always because IE crashes not because blogger goes down or whatever. Just goes to show - write first - post second.

Anyway - I'm dying. Not literally (I hope) but this cold has now reached the utter misery stage - every joint feels like it's filled with battery acid, and the coughing is about to start big time. Bad man. I spent the night semi awake, drifting in and out of consciousness, my every dream seeming to revolve around going into an exam not knowing it, with no notes, and no hope. Then I'd wake up, realise it's all long, long over, breath a sigh of relief, collapse back into the land of nod and be straight back outside the gym again clutching a pencil case and about to throw up. It's 16 years since I took my A levels and I'm still having nightmares about them. Some people have been prisoners of war and got less fucked up by the experience than that. Just goes to show - education is bad for you.

I did have one slightly different dream - I was in a cinema / bar (avoiding someone/thing) and all the people in the film came out of the screen and surrounded me and than knealt down and called me 'Shining One'. Now that's a dream I can get behind. Only one to make any sense anyway ;-)

The worst of being ill is that you don't want to do anything - eat, watch TV, converse, blog, read, self abuse, nothing appeals. Actually my flatmate accused me of having 'Man Flu'. God I could have killed her. It's fucking irritating to be accused of being a hypochondriac just because you're a bloke. Admittedly most of the worst examples of people who retire to their bed of pain at the first little sniffle tend to be men (although also generally the sort of blokes who have wives/girlfriends who will then spend the next 3 days running around after them like flustered mother hens - so more fool them) but it's by no means a universal. Let's face it, ladies, you're not *all* delivering a baby, digging the allotment, wallpapering the bathroom and councelling a suicidal mate at the same time are you?

In fact if I had a quid for every time I've come home to find one of my flatties ensconced on the sofa with a duvet shrieking like a banshee if anyone suggests turning the heating down a tad or - heaven forbid - cracking a window, well, I'd have the deposit for a flat of my own wouldn't I? And they keep asking me questions - about things I really couldn't give a shit about - shall we move this shelf? shall we throw out this tupperware? shall we repot the basil plants? By my waving hand and eyes raised to heaven shall ye know my answer : If you want to do it - then just fucking do it, stop involving me. I'm not going to complain if I don't like it, let's face it I'm probably not even going to notice so if you care that much about it one way or the other just fucking do it and shut the fuck up.

Ah the battle of the sexes. All this boils down to is that I feel like death on a stick and I'm getting no sympathy because both my flatmates have chronic hangovers as a result of having been out getting pissed every night for days while I've been stuck in the flat with no money dribbling snot on the carpets and filling my bed with soaking wet tissues. And not in a good way. And even worse than that - fm1 has gone out with my fags. Not that I want to smoke one right now, but it's the fucking principle. She knows I'm a doley and I have *NO* money - certainly none to be going buying packs of cigs with. The one packet of tobacco (cost : £2.19) that has to last me the whole fecking week, and she's wandered off with is. And I know she's going out on a super bender this evening and going to Berlin tomorrow morning so I won't see her till Monday.

What's wrong with people?? What's wrong with me more like?????