Earlier on this week, I regaled you with a sympathetic tale of my weekend that – whilst good, had the unfortunate side effect that every six seconds I was polaxing myself and coughing up inhuman amount of catarrh over large areas that it was making me miserable. Lucky I didn’t have any tickets for the snooker grand final as I would’ve been thrown out.
You’ll be no doubt pleased to hear that I have since managed to kick Vinny Virus almost into touch, with the occasional sniffle and a horribly unhealthy sounding wheeze being the only remnants remaining on my personage. However, with every catarrh ass kicked silver lining is a huge problematic cloud, one of which I’m not proud of.
I’ve become addicted to cough syrup.
I’m not usually one for a sweet tooth, but I was downing shots of the honey, glucose and lemon based elixir with as much love as a marathon runner shows when they drink during a race. Each two hour spread between fixes resulted in me becoming twitchy, paranoid and tense. I paced around my office in work like a caged animal, and grasped the mouse hard to try in a vain attempt to calm me down.
It just tastes so nice.
It’s not all bad, it has also caused me to be more linguistically creative and write using big words. Plus it gives me a great business idea – come up with a drink similar to this that you don’t need any health warnings printed on.
What tastes are you addicted too?
Another driving lesson tomorrow – hopefully I will learn to take corners as well as Michael Schumacher, and not as well as Wayne Rooney.