Small blue thing

I feel rotten today. And it's not an extra-long hangover from Saturday night, though I probably did deserve one for talking so much bollocks.

No, it's something more sinister -- mostly physical, a kind of heavy head, sore-ish throat, bit of sneezing, general fug, but accompanied by a feeling best described as restlessness combined with apathy, which I find quite unsettling. Like I would run away if I could be arsed.

I am hoping the psychological feelings are a side effect of the same bug that is causing the physical ones. I haven't got time for existential angst this month.

But maybe I don't have a choice in the matter. On Friday night I was at a Mick Thomas gig at Brentford FC. My friend Pete was there too -- I've known him for six years or so, but we only really see each other at gigs.

He was standing a couple of yards away from me down at the front, and at the opening bars of one song he came over and shouted in my ear: This one's called The Lonely Goth -- it might work for you.

Thanks a lot, I said, but you know what, he was right.

joella