Had hoped to be back up to speed by now. Spent four nights in England, in London and then visiting Tommy the Brit.
But got badly sick on plane back. That may be as (temporarily) miserable as you can get, outside of prison: nine hours with a bad fever, shivering, in coach, getting up every 20 minutes to puke (or pretend to puke, because your stomach insists). And then getting to &^$%*ing Atlanta and being greeted by the friendly staff of America's "Welcome home! Now bend over" customs.
Then four hours on the floor in Atlanta waiting for the flight that is (of course) delayed. Coach again, middle seat. Stewardess actually wakes me, incredulous that I don't want peanuts. No, ma'am, thanks very much.
Was in a near coma yesterday. Finally kept something solid down around 2 pm.
Today, I was feeling so bad I actually played Angry Birds. Had never played it before. Nice, because you can shoot a bird at those bad pigs and then take a little nap before your next shot. A nice quiet little game. I will never, ever play it again.
It would be good if my head stopped hurting. But the whole not puking thing is an improvement.
Tomorrow: England, Tommy the Brit, Harold. And, of course, the Cock.