Paracetemol & Priorities

I've been away, but fear not, I'm back. For the 50% of you who can understand, I've had manflu. For the other half, well, it's not really worth my while thrashing around to explain something that you are genetically prevented from knowing - a bit like one of your kind trying to qualitatively convey to me the pain of childbirth, the pleasure of heat magazine or the appeal of toenail varnish - you're just never going to get it.

The important thing for you to know is that I've taken it like a man, too - that is, belligerently ignoring it, carrying on with whatever I would have anyway (i.e. working) and simply whining to anyone who will listen. I've had no appetite, and those of you who know me will know how unusual that is. If you'd have put a cold beer in front of me, I wouldn't have drunk it. Those of you who know me now think I'm making this up.

Anyway, I'm back to something resembling full strength now, so normal service will be resumed, but for now I have a short thought about priorities.

I was supposed to be meeting an old, unreliable friend tonight whom I've managed to see about once in the last 5 years (and that was for a late-night beer when we happened to be staying in the same hotel in the ar$e end of Holland). Unsurprisingly, when I got in this morning, there was an email waiting saying he would be standing me up again. His excuse this time? He didn't want to miss out on a spot of brown-nosing with some big cheese in his company ahead of his performance review.

Sorry buddy, but sort it out. If they are so fickle that a couple of hours of sycophantic anecdote exchange over dinner will make a difference, then I'm glad I don't work there. I hope you'll be very happy together, and I'm sure your girlfriend won't mind.