It all started fucking up on Saturday when I went into Bristol with a cough. It felt like a mistake but it was only a cough. Which woke me at two o’clock on Sunday morning and that was it for sleep that night. It seemed good enough cause for feeling shit and worn out on my day up in the Midlands but it didn’t explain the all-over aches and inability to get warm.
I don’t know what it is that I get. It’s not a cold: it’s not wet enough, there’s no sore throat and no sneezing. And I always consider that flu renders you incapable of getting out of bed. People play that card too often! As it happened I did have to take to my bed for an hour.
The same symptoms have continued through my second Worcestershire day and on to now, all while I’m trying to summarise the January 2011 Avon bird sightings for the Bristol Ornithological Club. This has occupied me for ever in any case – much longer than I had allowed. Taking a two-day trip ate into too much time, then repairing back to bed several times ate some more.
On top of all that my fucking pension company (AXA – what a bunch of cunts) have pulled the old money laundering excuse to delay releasing my cash. So I have to jump through more hoops for their benefit and shunt other funds around to avoid bank charges.
Now I’m trying to battle O2’s Connection Manager to get my automatic wireless back. It seemed like a good idea to install the software that came with my new mobile broadband device – just right for travelling.
Yeah. Now it prompts me on a daily basis to download their fucking hotspot directory, which also eats up a ton of bandwidth. I disabled the piece-of-shit programme to stop that little racket, and discovered the problem of no longer connecting to my wireless router when I switch my laptop on.
Jesus fucking Christ.