The humbug strikes Bloody hell. On Christmas eve, after swapping presents with Lorraine, and Anna and Anton, and the babes, and popping around to Janet and Ken for a festive cup of tea I left for London. On the train I discovered that the tiredness I was experiencing was not solely the result of an enthusiastic day's drinking with Matty, but was in fact "the humbug" - a virus that times itself perfectly to wipe out Christmas in a blur of fever, exhausting coughing bouts, and the sorest of sore throats. The humbug? Bah to it. I feel sorry for Mum, as Mas also has the humbug and so she has been surrounded by stereo man flu all Christmas, which must have been unendurable. Watched some DVDs - Apocalypto, which was a film purporting to be about Mayan history but actually was mainly about the director's disturbed obsession with the pornographic violence. If I had more energy I would rant more about this. I also watched I Robot, which was mindless and undemanding fun. Being ...
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