Perhaps it's a self-employed thing, but I tend to be stubbornly resistant to illness while the world is assiduous and active. The moment total relaxation sets in, so does the bastard lurgey.
Sniffles arrived Christmas morning and, after consuming each of the 15 items on the festively-adorned dining table, the ensuing 40 odd hours were reduced to a sluggish torpor with my energy level not much above that of my cat the day after he had been drugged for his knackers to be cut off.
In hindsight, it was only the loud application of energetic early 80s punk and new wave that drove me through cooking the Christmas dinner anyway. If Mrs P hadn't been at the in-laws with the little Ps, and the non-headphone ban on Siouxsie, PiL, Toyah, The Tubes and Buzzcocks had still been in effect, they probably would have been served up oxtail soup and toast instead.
Boxing Day was a dead loss too. Alternating between involuntary shivering and equatorial heat flushes, my legs doggedly refused to give up on a strict work to rule policy, while the other Puddlecotes played a Wii dancing game so energetic that just the possibility of my being invited to participate was almost enough to induce tears.
With symptoms faded, a return to the keyboard sees an RSS feed with over 500 unread items, and a quick read around the blogroll reveals that the righteous have been spending Christmas Day issuing fucking press releases. The saying does mention 'no rest for the rancid, hideous wicked' though, or something like that, so we shouldn't be overly surprised.
I've much catching up to do and would seem to be in a touchy mood, with little things jumping out of the page and being extremely irritating. Such as this.
If the sentence is carried out, it would be the first time an EU national has been executed in China for 50 years.
EU national? Has post-Lisbon federalism kicked in to this extent already?
Expect some Tim Worstall style brevity from here in the next couple of days if this mood lasts.