David's Plague Cross.
“…and the prize for the longest
running, most mucus-producing cold goes to…”
(Dramatic pause.)
“…David Ephgrave, for David Ephgrave’s Longest Running, Most Mucus-Producing Cold.”
(No-one claps. David produces mucus.)
Being ill at the end of the year isn’t a shock; it goes with the territory. People who moan that they're suffering from low-level sicknesses, particularly on social media, are also very irritating. Though I know this, I’m still going to say it: “I’m fucking sick of this fucking cold I’ve got”.
(Dramatic pause.)
“…David Ephgrave, for David Ephgrave’s Longest Running, Most Mucus-Producing Cold.”
(No-one claps. David produces mucus.)
Being ill at the end of the year isn’t a shock; it goes with the territory. People who moan that they're suffering from low-level sicknesses, particularly on social media, are also very irritating. Though I know this, I’m still going to say it: “I’m fucking sick of this fucking cold I’ve got”.
("Language, Timothy.")
It’s isn’t even my first cold this month; it’s Cold #2. A fortnight ago, after losing and then regaining my voice, I assumed I was out of the worst. God, was I wrong. By Christmas Eve, the germs had reworked their black magic; so much so that I was back to communicating with Marcel Marceau-like gestures by the 27th of December. I may still be poorly, but I’ve mastered appearing to walk against the wind with aplomb and finesse.
The most frustrating aspect of my contamination is it has forced me to cancel a few gigs and a radio recording due to my lack of voice. I’ve also made my wife ill, meaning I have no-one to take pity on me. There's one plus side though: I'm keeping the UK’s largest producer of balsam tissues firmly in business. It wouldn't be the first time.
It’s isn’t even my first cold this month; it’s Cold #2. A fortnight ago, after losing and then regaining my voice, I assumed I was out of the worst. God, was I wrong. By Christmas Eve, the germs had reworked their black magic; so much so that I was back to communicating with Marcel Marceau-like gestures by the 27th of December. I may still be poorly, but I’ve mastered appearing to walk against the wind with aplomb and finesse.
The most frustrating aspect of my contamination is it has forced me to cancel a few gigs and a radio recording due to my lack of voice. I’ve also made my wife ill, meaning I have no-one to take pity on me. There's one plus side though: I'm keeping the UK’s largest producer of balsam tissues firmly in business. It wouldn't be the first time.
