The fever is giving me weird dreams. Last night I played tennis against World #2 Andy Murray. The court was made of dirt – not nice Roland Garros clay; more outback Australia dust. Andy was whipping my arse and I couldn't figure out why, until I looked down to see I was playing not with a tennis racquet but a TEASPOON.
"It's not fair," I whined, "How'm I supposed to beat you with a teaspoon?"
"That's the least of your worries!" said Andy Murray with great contempt, "DRY YER EYES!"
That's another brilliant phrase picked up in the UK. Try it next time someone is being a big moany wussypants. Summon as much disdain as possible as you sneer, "Ahh, dry your eyes!"
I went to the doctor today who said I might feel shit for another couple of weeks, which isn't handy with our kickboxing grading on Sunday. Might need to see if I can postpone. Anyway, at least it's definitely not swine flu!
Now back to bed. Bon weekend, comrades!