Feverish, weak, dizzy, dehydrated, a mild cough - flu. Drats.
I have now spent the best part of four days lying in bed asleep or listening to Radio 4. Which is much less enjoyable than it might sound, even to the most dedicated skiver.
Why must I always drift back into consciousness at the opening music to the Archers, which I loathe?
But this afternoon, the service of seven lessons and carols from King's was awesome, and mixed with memories of the service I went to as a student. The majestic descants of Adeste Fidelis tumbling like a breaking wave. Joy.
Also joyous - drinking a yoghurt, vanilla bean and honey smoothie, impossible to do properly without making glugging noises.
This time last year I was up in Hull with my ex, in a dingy little flat she had rented while persuing her campaign as a wannabe-MP (unsuccessful to date). I started my smoothie, she objected ferociously, citing some extreme and peculiar personal reasons, and I had to go outside to finish it.
No more. Happy glug Christmas glug glug my dear, wherever you are.