Spike Milligan’s famous epitaph – he and I are kindred spirits in our frustration that others cannot see how really sick we are. In fact, the only significant difference between the departed Goon and I, is that he is already dead. And the way I’m feeling, it could only be a matter of time before I too pass over to the other side.

This viral infection of Al picked Friday afternoon to host itself inside my head. My ears are blocked, my nose is leaking and my hair hurts. I appreciate the latter isn’t much of a medical condition when you consider my limited thatch. but the combination of symptomatic grimness is making my life a misery. And, of course, those around me.

Although, being properly British, I have suffered in near silence and announced – with some sniffy dignity – to Carol yesterday evening that my affairs were all in order, and she and the children would be well provided for if I did not make it through the night.

Frankly I was disappointed with her reply. She refuses to accept that my early onset bubonic plague is anything more than a stiff cold. I am putting it down to a belated response to Scottish moistness, and an allergic reaction to car salesmen.

So now I’m bored, and searching through the archives found this wonderful device sent by my friend James who is tuned in to some of the more bizarre offerings of the Internet. It has some relevance as my request for a petrol lawnmower has been firmly rejected by the financial committee.

The argument went something like “You don’t need a a lawnmower, we don’t have any grass” / “Yes but we will and it’d go nicely with that pond vacuum I was looking at”. At this point, it became clear that my Thelma and Louise style stampede through many and varied expensive shopping options has flagged up some concerns to those who understand both incomings and outgoings.

Therefore, I expect my credit cards to be confiscated and replaced by a weekly allowance of pocket money. And since I’m sat here wired into a million ways to fritter away the children’s future, that probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.

You see, I can’t help looking at that picture and thinking “H’mm, a little more fork travel, a titanium frame and a new chain wouldn’t cost much, and just think of the performance benefits“. I blame the drugs, they are foul tasting placebo’s dreamed up by marketing men who play on our consumer society weaknesses.