Yes. I'm sneezing. An invisible person is punching the back of my neck. I can't understand what's happening in Project Runway. I DON'T WANT TO EAT. Swine flu has finally hit the Midlands but hey, that's OK because everyone else has got it and I don't like feeling left out.
It would be slightly more OK, however, if I didn't have an interview at 11am tomorrow morning. And no, it's not for night shifts at Tesco but an internship I actually want. An internship that may actually pay me REAL money as opposed to Monopoly money or the "£2 a day expenses" I was offered by TimeOut, who presumably expect me to camp outside their offices in a box, eat the box, and dress in different bits of the box for work. Thanks, guys!
And to add insult to injury, or nits to swine flu, I've just been asked to shampoo the hair of an eight-year-old with headlice.
NIT FACT! Bob Marley's dreads housed nine different types of louse, each enjoying a fixed-rate mortgage and unlimited shelter beneath his hat.
ANNABEL WIGODER FACT! Nine different kinds of headlice are unlikely to get me a job, unless I can train them to sing an acapella version of the Cockroach Song by the time I reach St Pancras. Watch this space.
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