I'm not supposed to be here, at home. I have one sick day in a blue moon but today I feel like shit so I rang in sick and called the doctors'...
"Hello. Can I help you?"
"I've had a sore throat for the past week and now I ache all over and I'm bringing up this yellow mucus."
"I think you've got the wrong number. This is The Co-operative Funeral Directors."
Actually that didn't really happen. But just imagine if it did! No, I saw the Practice Nurse and she stuck something in my ear to check my temperature, asked me to lift my teeshirt so she could listen to my chest, and shone a light down my throat.
"You're not allergic to Penicillin, are you?"
"These'll sort you out. You'll be feeling right as rain after taking these."
I picked up my Duloxetine along with the Penicillin. My cold turkey starts tonight before I can start taking the new pills on Monday evening.
The wonderful thing about blogging is you can write anything you like about anything that happens in your life without some sharp-minded editor saying, "You can't write that, Geoff. Who's going to be interested in that?"
That's why I left The Independent (after pissing in Janet Street-Porter's coffee).