Sick - AGAIN.

If the immune system is a little coat of invisible armour we wear under our thermals, mine has holes in it and a big gap where the crotch area is supposed to be. The woman next to me at work today spent the entire 9 hour shift apologising for clearly having a stonking cold, but the apologies haven't done much in the way of protecting me from the germs she shot out through her nose in my direction, because I'm dying again. 2.5 weeks after the last time I nearly died, I'm getting back into my sick bed: grumpy, scratchy and generally a nightmare to be anywhere near. I am clearly of a fragile constitution, like Keats or the girl from Wings of a Dove. I need to start taking turns around the garden a little more regularly, I think. Or perhaps spa trips in the Parisian country side where I can convalesce a little more comfortably. 

I wish I could blame her, but I have nobody to point the finger at but myself. By my calculations, it's my cold that's been working its way round the office: I saw it wave at me as it took a spin around the water cooler. It seems only fitting, after all, that - after a short burst of enthusiastic freedom - it's finally mutated and come back home to where it started. 

I simply can't imagine where it learnt that kind of behaviour from.