under another sun

Woke up feeling ill exhausted and hot, and breakfasted on paracetamol. A bad night, through being ill and waking up feeling desperately sad about our friend. I tried not to think about the despair he must have felt to reach a point where you kill yourself. Pleased not to travel up to London. Instead slogged at my desk 8:30 till 6:30 on this job that had turned into a nightmare. Still feeling very angry and resentful about this job. I had today to bash out reams of unnecessary work at a ridiculously fast clip, that wasn't even being received by the CD because it was going into his spam file. By 6:30 it was finally done. I called Mum, and cancelled our trip tomorrow as I don't want to infect her and Mas. My saintly wife cooked us a lovely roast chicken, and was still talking to me after I had been moaning and swearing all day. We ate this happily, and watched the end of the derivative but fun  Stranger Things season two before an early night.

More moaning than you can shake a stick at Friday night. Despite rattling with painkillers, my head is thumping. Lorraine is at her house with her girly mates. Time, therefore, for a moan. Traditionally Summer is the season for things to be obnoxious, so a week of summer suck was overdue. So to the quack this morning. Shambled with my hiking stick, being given a wide berth in the street. Took me three times as long to walk there as usual. Turns out the ankle business which has kept me skewered by increasingly insufferable pain for the last three days and nights may be gout. Separated at birth: me and sodding Henry VIII. It is so painful that it keeps me awake, and also too painful to sit on a normal chair. And if the gout business didn't suck enough, my blood pressure was a bit high again. The nice locum has organised a shed load of tests for me next week. If I freakishly manage to live that long. Back home to discover the client thinks my copy (designed to reassure people about a ...