Dammit, I’m home from work today with a steadily-building pile of used tissues. Hate being off sick.
Last night Cal and I ate curry and watched new BBC comedy ‘The Smoking Room’. Not bad at all. The same deadpan observational grotesquerie as ‘The Office’, ‘Nighty Night’ and the genius ‘Peep Show’ – there’s something of a renaissance for Brit comedy going on at the moment.
Then we sat in bed, me feeling sorry for myself, and watched the Director’s Commentary for the opening episode of ‘Firefly’. Most satisfying.
On the other hand, going to Paris! And later, going to Ireland! We’ll be tracking down family-type folk while there. At least, that’s the plan. I have a list of things to do while overseas, as laid down by my family and friends before departing, and one of them I hope to cross off the list at the other end of this coming trip.
Day: July 6, 2004
This Is Not The Sleep You’re Looking For
So here it is at nearly 4am, and I’m waiting for the cold and flu meds to kick in because after hours of basically nil sleep I realised there were some lurking in a back drawer somewhere.
Stupid stupid rat creatures. I should be asleep dreaming of gargantua and left-wing and Brando and coats of arms and sine waves and precise composites and Tiger Lily and multitudes and such. Instead I am awake.
I have, however, just eaten some chocolate and it is amazing how much better it makes me feel. Mmm.
And, apple and ginger tea.