Delirium, Which Is Hard To Spell When You Are Delirious

I've got bloody flu. Not manflu, but the real McCoy: I'm shivering like a mad thing despite a raging temperature. And I don't care about anything. Not roses, not Johnny, not German biscuits. And I don't even want a cigarette, so you know how bad things are.

I suppose it's a good thing Vicky can cover for me while I'm off sick. Though, actually, I don't even care about work. Greg's chaos theory probably applies anyway, and my being absent won't actually make a blind bit of difference to anyone.

I am just going to sleep - all the time - and hope Martin Shaw returns during any delirious moments. As long as he doesn't look at my face either. I bet it looks like shit.

Does any of this make sense? I may be delirious now.