Tuesday, February 05, 2008
The Grim Reaper Calls....
Seldom free from pain but never one to grumble. Such, dear reader, is a mans lot. While some exceptions are out there (lesser men…) we bear our lot stoically and seldom remark upon life, it misfortunes, or indeed illness. Indeed, I myself am raising a weary finger from my own sickbed to type this small note to you and no living soul has yet heard a word of complaint.
Wracked though I am with this terrible cough. Burned by a fever hotter than pepper. Staring through the wild eyes of delirium.
Though I am uncomplaining, She Of The Town House has spotted my plight, and summoned the Old Walled Town's finest medical opinion to my sickbed.
I can tell that the end is near. The lights are dim now and the sound is receding to a gentle murmur in the background. I understand that the HN51 strains have all been accounted and discounted leading to a sorry conclusion. There is little time left. Unless an elixir can be located, and fast, I shall be gone by morning.
It seems that I have ‘Man Flu’.