what I did on my holiday weekend by anna (aged 29 and 11/12ths)

On Friday I went to work, and, at lunchtime, started feeling decidedly stupid. Not sick, not ill, not poorly as such. Just stupid, like someone had dipped my face in porridge and asked me to inhale deeply, powerfully and until it filled my whole skull.

For the rest of the working day no one noticed that I was spectacularly more stupid than usual, which is slightly disappointing in a way.

Although understandable in that it was a lovely sunny bank holiday Friday and the very few people with me in the office were ALSO feeling quite stupid, although in their case it was mainly for agreeing to be in the office at all on a lovely sunny bank holiday Friday, and not for porridge-inhalation reasons.

By the train home, however, my immense stupidity was very noticable. It mainly manifested in my saying Umnch? to every question my Beloved asked, and sneezing a lot, before bursting into snotty tears at the realisation that neither of us were carrying tissues.

By Saturday I was the South Coasts biggest mucus factory, specialising in snot. My cries were plaintive, and mainly unintelligable.

WhyvIgoddacode? I dake VIDDAMINS. Dint FAIR.

Havent TIBE to be Illfergoodessake. Illisstoopid. Bleurgh.

WAH! I lost by tisssooooss. Aboo seed em? I NEEDEB! I need TISOOS I would whine at my Beloved, who in turn might look at me, head cocked to one side, and try to translate. Whats that, girl? Youre hungry? Too warm? Theres a boy stuck in a well? before I would give up and blow my nose on his jumper.

By Sunday, the ill had shifted out of my head, deciding to sit heavily on my chest for a while. I tried to shift it with pharmacuticals, hot toddies and all manner of medicinal CD shopping (well one has to get out of the house, does one not?), and eventually decided that if it was going to go away, it would go away when it felt like it.

And then it was Monday and, having to head back into work, my cold announced itself to be just about over (apart from sneaky snot-attacks on the train which, finding me bizarrely without tissues again, would leave me wondering whether it was worse form to blow my nose out of the window or just stick the emergency tampons at the bottom of my handbag up my nostrils until I reached my destination). Which was good, as there was no one else to cover my desk at work, so I had to be there.

And now, the cold, it is gone. Or mainly. Just in time for the rest of my working week.

This was my Easter bank holiday: two days in the office, two days in bed, four days ill, three days whining.

I demand a recount.