I thought I was having a heart attack the other night. Oh it was terrible. Went to bed on Sunday early doors, read for a while, then turned the lights off.
It was at this point that I started losing my breath and palpitating wildly. Terrible. The hands went all tingly and I had visions of laying there for weeks before some concerned family member would break in and discover my rotting corpse.
Happily this didn't transpire, I fended off the reaper and woke as normal the next day.
However, once I sat at my desk the palpitations started again. Sakes, says I, so I headed to the doctor on the advice of my peers. "Stress," he said. "Stress?" said I. This perplexed me as I've been going with the flow as normal lately, but he felt strongly enough to medicine me, leaving me non-alcoholic for weeks to come.
This is handy in a way. Just checked the bank balance. Oh mercy me but funds are tight as fuck. Where has it all gone? I kicked my addiction to Magnum Classics years and years ago. I don't gamble. I don't smoke. I've even been rationing the old nights out.
I think the problems start when you're paying 99 cent for a Toffee Crisp.