Hello all. A late blog post for you this evening/night. I didn’t bother advertising the post from yesterday (though it was written on Saturday) – and good job too. It was probably more a personal rant than I wanted. But instead of deleting it, I’ll just keep it up and let you find it yourselves if you really are inclined.
What I actually did yesterday was spend the day in bed. The illness that’s been looming finally hit me hard. To be fair it probably hit me on my wasted journey to the football the other day. However, yesterday I woke up around 3pm in a pool of sweat.

I know, lovely right?
Combine that with a pounding headache and an achy body. Today those symptoms are joined by a sore throat and a cough. One might say I have Covid. The more I think about it, the more I realise how irresponsible of me it was to travel to London to watch a game of football whilst being full of germs.
The worst thing is my appetite has completely gone. For those that know me, I LOVE my food. Probably a little too much. But I’ve been trying to be good this year, holding out for this week to be my week of indulgence because it’s my birthday this week. Instead, I find myself with a sore throat and no appetite.
To put it nicely… WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.

Have I started swearing too much? I have, haven’t I? It’s just the direction of travel my life is taking so far.
So yeah, you can throw illness at me, you can make Arsenal lose points in the stupidest manner, but you do not mess with my eating habits. But here we are.
Anyway. I’m feeling quite weak, with very little strength at the moment. Which is heartbreaking when the OddDaughter wants her trademark hug where I lift her up. I tried it today and almost toppled over.
This time I’m going to learn my lesson and I am going to rest up. No stupid trips to the football, or going out if it isn’t necessary.
It’s 9pm, which means it’s bed time for me. Good night y’all.