The problem with beer (and that’s a phrase that I’d wager you never expected me to utter) is that it’s not a socially appropriate beverage at 8am. Except in Scotland, where I’d stumble off the first flight from Heathrow to see some jolly jocks quaffing a couple of pre-breakfast McEwans. Outstanding effort there fellas.
So my pain management regime has been downgraded to Nurafen with every meal and not making any sudden moves. Actually it’s almost been a disappointment that the post crash injuries don’t really hurt at all. It was a pretty big off at a fairly high speed and aside from a neck with articulates about twenty degrees either side, nothing really hurts much. I realise this is twisted logic but even I’m struggling to offer myself any sympathy.
Still the ongoing chest infection / head cold / unknown virus / Spanish Flu Mutation has robbed me of my voice. Wages of Sin probably but while I start the day in fine voice, by the close of play I’ve been reduced to punching people to get my point across. A cross between Joe Cocker and a constipated poodle represents the most printable description of my current vocal output.
If it doesn’t get better soon, I’m going to open myself up with a spoon and have a good root round. Honestly I give up smoking and this is my reward ? Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humour.
I’ve told my wife for my Birthday present, I’d like a CAT scan 😉