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 fed lots of vitamin pills by Mas (and narrowly avoiding being given laxatives too). This morning discussed how when he was a marine fighting in the Korean war, if the enemy had only thrown spiders at him, all would have been lost.

Off now for yet another lemsip.