Since Thursday I have been ill with a raging fever: hot and cold sweats, shivers, a hacking bronchial cough, terrible headaches. I have been getting through 2 or 3 pairs of pyjamas a day, and multiple cold showers, and huge quantities of enormously overpriced paracetamol. CB has been waiting on me hand and foot, producing meals which I've largely left uneaten, bringing me medicines and home made iced tea, and fetching me fruit, tissues, glasses of water, books etc and taking away fruit, used tissues, empty glasses, books etc.
I should have read the signs and not cavalierly expected us to beat Palermo. It was clearly doomed.
3-1. Ten minutes of brightness - about as long as my perky spells last - before 80 minutes of dazed, sweating, lost, painful... oh you get the picture. Yes it is all about me, dammit. I'm sick. Don't be mean to me.
Still, at least we can all laugh at Milan, no? (Actually, I can't, since when I laugh I start to cough very painfully. But the principle is sound.)