I acquired shingles. Yes, that’s right.
Since acquiring shingles, there has been much speculation. Am I in agony? Am I a gay? Negatory, fact fans. I am, however, in quarantine, mainly to protect myself from the ire of those who got shingles and got it BAD. This is not me. In fact, recently I was looking quite on top of things:
This was in Norman’s Bay, on a recent holiday with a beautiful girl.
She takes all the photographs, of course, so the resulting album consists mainly of silly pictures of myself. There was perhaps a less egotistical way of phrasing that, but I shan’t look for it. There are many worse ways to amass a collection of silly pictures of yourself. The weekend was so relaxing I haven’t properly adjusted to city life since, which probably explains the shingles. I do enjoy telling people how chicken pox lies dormant in the spine for one’s entire life. I don’t enjoy being in quarantine.
In fact, it seems to be affecting my quite badly. It’s 21:50 or so here and I haven’t bothered to eat yet. I was planning on a roundup of my wonderful holiday, and perhaps a reflection on shingles, but all I’ve managed is an incoherent and homophobic splurge. I’m simply getting distracted by all this deep deep dub I’m listening to.
In retrospect, I should have been a garage deejay to collect my cheque.
It seems so effortless.
Riddla on Roots Manuva’s UK Warriors
Chucklesome lyric that turned up whilst listening to this here radio station. It’s turned up some great surprises. I’m off to eat.