November

Thought that's what you meant by 'post jab'

You know what thought did.

No, my weekly Crohn's jab, Tone. Am actually stopping that, ironically, as I'm in a fair place and my markers are decent so I'm a candidate for hiatus

Fucking sick of this cold now. The irony

Classic November moment earlier.

Standing at the bus station waiting for the last leg and having spent all day blowing my nose to the point that I could fashion another fucking head out of the snot and tissue I've been through, I went in again.

Well, my arse came out in a degree of sympathy.  I was fighting an evacuation of sorts anyway but was confident of getting home, so not too fussed.  Blowing your nose, though, Newton's action and reaction came into play.  I wasn't smuggling an egg but I did need to drop the kids off at the pool at this point and assess the damage (which was nil, thankfully).  The thing is, because I blew out at one end and the door rattled at the other, it meant that it created a partial vacuum, my waist sucked in four inches, my pants fell down and my cock lolloped out to the chagrin of just about everyone except a hungry-looking housewife with a blonde bob, so I got a wank out of it.

The last bit obviously isn't true.  She was a born gobbler.

It is now December. Can the lost voice and no end of snot, phlegm and utter lack of energy fuck off now, please, it's been six weeks and I've lost enough weight to be mistaken for the bloke in Silence of the Lambs, only starving myself to try and make a fucking skin suit out of my own dermis. I can grab the back of my thigh at the minute and it's like tugging on my ballsack. Which makes me want to tug on my ballsack and the natural progression, well, I haven't got the fluids to spare what with the snot and the phlegm and the fact that I can't scream my own name when I go off...

Off now to pierce a nipple, slip my wang between my legs and sashay back from the camera telling it how I'd fuck me...

Didn't realise how much Silence of the Lambs is like when I have a day off and the house to myself...

Here's a list of my cravings while I've been ill.

Mayflower curry and chips (£1, Heron Foods) - works as a pipecleaner and is solely for comfort.  Fucking great work by them.
Pringles (prawn cocktail) - felt like shit, bought a pack for the sake of calories, demolished.  Repeated on two occasions - it's been a long month
Jakeman's - the black ones that taste like death but which I like, lemon ones, mint ones and the odd blackcurrant one
Redheads - still a man after all
Crunchies - not a huge craving but again, very handy if you aren't eating and your body screams "BLOOD SUGAR NOW".  Maltesers also filled this role to a lesser extent
Bagels - red onion and chive New Yorkers have brought me back into the eating fold with minimal toasting effort
Having my giblets out - under a dressing gown and when in the house alone, but for some reason that air and liberty makes me feel a little bit less shit.  Not a self molestation thing.  For that, I lose the gown...
Coffee - Not a big user (see 'The Commute') but have seen the value of its bronchiodilation these last weeks and asking for a coconut latte when you have no voice is quite hilarious
Breasts - still a man, see above, red hair as well would get me arrested but I have slowed down and have to look at something
Tissues - obvious wank joke I'm going to pass over as I've been through 25+ disposable packets and by the end, they fucking stink of the paper treatment before they are packed.  Top tip - buy the scented with menthol, you get a longer stay of execution
Encona Sweet Chilli Sauce - used sparingly but deliberately, not a fan usually as I like it harsher but it has done a job for me, round of applause
Biscuits in general - the calories again and very much a balancer.  The true dependable of the store cupboard.
Tesco cheese and tomato flatbread - hot and soft, tasty, absolute magic and completely un-fucking-findable.  Had two in two days, bought together, unsighted since
Morrison's pies - they drift in with family and can be rigged to behave like a steak-and-kidney pudding on reheating. Real atavistic stuff that warms you to the bone

Joints are having a day today. My nearly thirteen-year-old shoulder injury that never flares up because it's thirteen years old is leader of the orchestra of pain. Paracetamol and sleep, great team