I have a cold. It’s not a bad one, but the sneezes are spectacular. They’re like 15 party poppers going off inside my lungs. On the up-side, my stomach muscles are getting an epic workout – yesterday I got to a point where the need to sneeze was fighting with my chest’s inability to move ever again, which was pretty weird – and I expect to look like Ricky Whittle before the week is out.
The other entertaining aspect is that despite sounding like I’m at death’s door, and getting rich off the black market in mucus transfusions, inside my head I feel fine. So I can’t even feel sorry for myself properly. Bah. Still, I haven’t had a cold for a couple of years, ever since I instigated Penn Jillette’s ‘never touch your face, and wash your hands when you get in or after shaking hands’ technique. Obviously there’s a sample size of one, but one cold in two years is way below average, so I’ll stick with it.
What I should not have done, however, was go to the Mop Fair this evening. The Mop Fair is a funfair that takes over the streets of Stratford for two days a year, and it is one of my favouritest things. So I dosed myself up and went on a few rides. Here is a photo of me on one of them:
Let’s just say it was faster than I expected. I am so going to pay for this tomorrow morning. I am already more than a little woozy and sneezing like crazy. Totally worth it, though.
Update: I forgot to mention Egbert, the awesome space monkey I essentially paid £2.50 for won by hooking a duck:
He is awesome is he not.