Well, a sleepless night prior to the rental inspection and the creeping, sneaking cough kicked in and I am feverish and spluttering. I have discovered there is a good reason I have never seen someone spit from a motorcycle. A coughing fit on the scooter resulted in a mouth full of phlem and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I used my coat sleeve to whip it off my cheek and chin and neck and helmet and helmet strap and all the other many and various places it ended up on me.
My landlord is still lurking, my rental agents were unimpressed with me, but are at least over and my house is slightly clearer than it was.
I have found some DVD's of the old "The Saint" television series starring Roger Moore, but haven't watched them much yet as if I have been home I have been asleep or compulsively measuring my temperature and mainlining vitamin C.
I'd quite like to go to Tex Perkins Johnny Cash show, but I may still be to ill to manage it after work, sigh. Thems-the-breaks, ey?