Without The Internet, Prostitutes Would Have to Find a Pimp Called Craig Who Had a List

It’s been one of those days, in fact one of those weeks. Knee-deep
in unexpected documents that demand total concentration. Six pages of
contract terms and conditions. Anyone? No, I thought not. Much to do
before the fun stuff.

And whilst we’re at it, add a spot of
post-swine-flu cough (OK, OK, a chest cold) that’s slowly moving your
lungs from their rightful place to the open atmosphere, much to the
disgust of your colleagues. I’m a joy to be around, no, honestly.