Polarising musical interludes aside, I'm here and I'm dealing with the onset of a headcold. You know the one - itchy all over but nowhere specific, sweating and chills, sniffles and shakes. Fuck sakes.
The early rising didn't help. I coughed out of bed before 7 for an early shift. One cup of Berocca later and I was nicely placebo'd, doling out the League of Ireland news at a rate of two or three a day.
Checking email here and there, wondering about Red's beard, greeting Terence, gassing about until 4pm and the bus home.
I sit now in the dark with the sheer white blast of the 'Create' page playing havoc with my senses, blogging about fuck all interesting because these are the only words that will come.
Anyone up for the job of 'muse'?
Applicants will require a sharp wit, an evasive nature, a calming quality, a pair of breasts and the capacity to drink red wine.
Short cover letter to the stated address.