The everyday blog of Richard Bartle.
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2:40pm on Friday, 9th January, 2015:
Either my younger daughter, my mother, or conceivably both of them, has given me a cold. I thought I'd fought it off yesterday evening, but at today's Departmental Meeting I went through 20 tissues — I know, because that's how many I took in with me. Thank goodness the new Head of Department managed to finish it on time, rather than the usual hour late; another 5 minutes and I'd have had to resort to wiping my nose on articles of clothing — possibly even my own.
As I've mentioned before, when I say I get bad colds I mean it. It's as if the contents of my nose are corrosive. I wind up with an upper lip that looks as if it's been attacked by a surform. They break the veins in my nose, the cumulative effect of which is that it gives the impression I'm overly fond of alcohol (which is particularly annoying as I'm teetotal).
Oh well, at least I should be over the worst of it by the time teaching starts on Monday. I studiously avoided getting close to my colleagues at the meeting so they should be OK, but so many other people are off work at the moment that we'll all probably pick up some other ailment that's going around soon enough.
My daughter set up a follow-the-clue treasure hunt for the present she got me for tomorrow, so at least I don't feel quite as miserable as I usually do when I'm in this state...
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