I was too smug-so Murphy's Law came into play, reached up and bit me right in the ass. This is what happens when I get too complacent-and a bite in the ass from Mr. Murphy is no fun at all. Promise.
After the last time I posted, I decided to take myself to see a comedy. I was already feeling something noxious coming on: sore throat, swollen glands, balance down the toilet-so I went to see Spy. It was just what I needed-I spent a couple of hours laughing, and when I left I felt better. Until, that is, that evening.
My sore throat was so bad that I could barely swallow, and I lost my voice. So, of course, I waited to see if it would get better on its own. And-it got worse. I finally gave in and went to see my GP, who announced that I either had strep throat or glandular fever. That is what I call covering all the bases. And I knew I had to go to the hospital for my infusions on Monday, so I just drank a lot of ginger tea, ate noodles until I thought I was going to turn into one, and saw one of the doctors while I was infusing. Two swabs were taken-and the results won't be back until Friday. So I am whispering until I know what comes next. Bah. I can't even swear at anyone; nobody takes anyone seriously when they whisper a four-letter word, do they? I'll make up for it when I get my voice back.
It's been a tough couple of weeks, but I'm glad I am able to see the keyboard and get back online. It was definitely a case of life going tits up (there's that word again!), pear-shaped, sideways-and a few other neat expressions to describe everything going wrong (including Murphy's Law!). No more complacence for me (until next time).
There is a lovely expression to describe the past two weeks. The Brits say everything has gone "down the crapper". When I questioned the origin (I'm such an anorak. Inquiring minds need to know these things), I was told that the flushing toilet was invented by Sir Thomas Crapper-so when everything goes wrong, that is what "they" say. And "they" seem to be the residents of-where else?- Essex!!! So when I went to the trusted Google, I read that Thomas Crapper wasn't entitled to call himself "Sir" because he wasn't a knight. And he also never invented anything connected with any toilet, flushing or otherwise. He was a plumber, though. But people started to call it the crapper anyway (some time around World War I).
Well, of course the people from Essex would call it the crapper. They probably aren't able to spell toilet, let alone know what it is used for. I did live there for a few months, and I noticed that they also have rotten aim. Enough said. Fortunately I was only there for about ten months, so no lasting damage was done. I crossed from Essex into London and could feel my IQ go up by about 150 points. I was smart enough to leave when I did-and, as I said, there seems to be no lasting damage. Except, possibly, the occasional drooling.
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