Ugh

One unmentioned fact about the oven story I posted previously was that I spent all of Sunday haring around West London in search of a shiny new oven with the nagging sensation that something wasn't quite right with me. The first piece of evidence that directed me to think this was the pounding headache I woke up with; it felt like something was trying to punch its way out of my head, and bearing in mind how much available space there is up there it was entirely conceivable that something had taken up residence and then decided to put in a new door or something to let a breeze through in the summer.

The second piece of evidence was the lumpy sensation in my throat. My initial reaction was something like 'EEK! MUMPS!' which would've been incredibly frustrating because I certainly didn't have time to go make a deposit at the local sperm bank in order to ensure my ability to reproduce at some still to be determined point in the future. Fortunately I then remembered that I'd already had mumps when I was a kid (yay for me), so my virility was safe (yay for future wife and potential for offspring).

I then decided that it was all just a knee-jerk reaction to having to spend loads of money on something I'd not planned to. I hope this doesn't mean I'll resent the shiny new oven.

Anyway, come Monday morning and I wake up with THE MOTHER OF ALL SORE THROATS, which quite frankly I really didn't need because I had to be in work for a BIG AND VERY IMPORTANT MEETING. I know, the idea of me being involved in a BIG AND VERY IMPORTANT MEETING is hilarious, isn't it? I think they just needed me to look pretty. I wore a nice shirt and a fitted jumper, so I fulfilled my end of the bargain.

So I manage to haul myself out of bed and get to work, at which point - and at some point in the future I swear I'll look back at this and laugh - I manage to hurl my beloved iPhone onto the ground. A very concretey piece of ground no less. Obviously there were swears involved, but fortunately upon picking up my iPhone I discovered it had gotten away with just a smattering of scratches on the back. Which I subsequently coloured in with a permanent black pen when I got into the office. You can barely tell now. And anyway, girls love guys with scars. Admittedly mine are on my phone, but still.

Hellooooooo ladeeeez…

For the next four hours I managed to remain remarkably coherent, but literally minutes after the meeting ended I crashed and burned at my desk. Deciding enough was enough, I went home, got into bed at 20 to three in the afternoon, and stayed there until about eight, at which point I submerged myself in the bath.

While in the bath I determined that I get very bored very easily just sitting in the tub, and resolved that at some point before I have my next one (before you say anything about me being filthy let me just establish that I usually, and very regularly, have showers) I need to buy some tubby toys to keep me occupied. Any suggestions? The first person who says something about my penis gets blocked, OK?

Cutting to the chase, I took today off work. I've spent pretty much all of it in bed, which has been delightful because not only do I now feel considerably better, but there's nothing quite like sitting in bed, alternately napping and reading comics and books. It could only have been better if Autumn Reeser had been here to make me soup and mop my brow (that's not a euphemism).

Maybe I should show her my iPhone? Chicks dig scars, don't they?