This week I have mostly been thanking Howard Florey, former provost of my Oxford College, for discovering the medicinal applications of penicillin. This has made it possible, in the last 24 hours, for me to actually begin eating solid foods again, after spending all week in bed eating soup and yoghurt and suffering from horrible tonsillitis. Boringly, I have now been ill for almost a fortnight. I refuse to accept that going to stand in the cold (and, on occasion, rain) to watch 3 football matches of varying importance can possibly in any way have contributed to this continuing litany of coughs, colds, headaches, fevers, swellings and disgustingness ("oooh," said the doctor on Friday, peering down my throat, "you've got a lot of pus in there.")
Anyway as luck would have it I have been staying chez Chelsea Boy whose unlikely form conceals an excellent nurse, and he has been looking after me all week (as well as getting me a doctor's appointment.) In return, as a token of my gratitude, I appear to have given him some sort of unpleasant illness in turn. It's just as well I am beginning to feel a bit better, really.
This is why I have not yet written properly about the derby or any of the other things I was hoping to write about, or indeed updated at all for nearly a week. The main problem - well, one of many - is that I should have gone home today. But am not really well enough to travel. I have class in the morning which am going to have to cancel - well, am still not really well enough to teach. I am still quite croaky, and have to rush out of the room intermittently to cough up grossness.
More worryingly though, on Tuesday night is what all my friends will persist in calling Roma-Manchester, despite my efforts to teach them about the existence of Manchester City. It is of course imperative that I get back for the game (what do you mean, maybe if I'm really ill I shouldn't go and stand on the Curva for two hours on a chilly spring evening? *lalalalala fingers in ears I can't hear you*). Actually, I'm more worried that I will still be feeling dizzy and achey and sweaty and headspinny come Tuesday. Argh. That's way I am busy cheering for Provost Florey, in whose remarkably bizarre student accomodation I was living exactly ten years ago, and his penicillin.