Not swine flu

I woke up at 6:15am, and felt suprisingly chipper considering the time, my feeble state when I went to bed at ten last night, and the little man industriously sand-papering my throat. Ought I to go in to work anyway? Two hours later, after paroxysmal coughing with disgusting results, I think that I can safely say "No", and that lying on the sofa in a dressing gown listening to the cricket will be best for all concerned. Until 10:45am, I shall be reading Georgette Heyer's Powder and Patch, which is ludicrously frothy in the best possible way. Also, not only does it contain more French than Busman's Honeymoon, I can't help feeling there are shades of Uncle Paul educating Young Peter in Paris.