Whenever I get a cold - which is normally once a year - the process of infection is consistent. First headaches, then sore throat, then runny nose, nose bleeds, followed by more headaches and usually sore eyes but this time I had added fun trying to breathe and sleep whilst suffering from a disgusting cough. The kind of disgusting cough which can turn even the stiffest of upper lips whilst sat on a commuter train.... I've almost kicked infection but have learnt that my partner in European adventures, Mr Thomas Charles Whitman, is currently bed-bound somewhere in the non-lit streets of the fine Suffolk Countryside and now my lady is _inevitably_ infected.
Its been a cruel week in several ways, my virus, epic snow and the death of our chickens. I was in my sick bed yesterday when Lucy broke the news that they had 'gone' and that there were 'lots of feathers'. She wasn't wrong, I braved the Hoth System style weather and went to investigate. Sadly I discovered a headless two year old Boudicca within the snow, not far from her house. It was a sad moment and one which will remain for a while - you can't really blame the fox for doing what he is programmed to do, and within 24 hours I found myself eating a chicken korma..... but then again Mr Fox clearly kills beyond what he/his family need to eat as otherwise he would have take Boudicca's body away. I also spotted from a distance Sylvia's headless body. I've subsequently worked out the movement of the fox through his snow prints - and lessons have been learnt for the future protection of chickens. A shot gun license perhaps?
After a sad day laughter was found in the wit of Dom Joly, who is single-handedly responsible for I'm a celeb getta me outta here being on series link in the villa. I even clicked the red button and gave him a vote. He will be in the last three for sure and could win it. While the celebs hang out in the tropical climate down under Colchester, Lincoln and indeed many other fine British communities get wallopped with an avalanche worth of thick white stuff - and I'm not talking about full fat Cravendale. Once again the 'warmists' seem to have disappeared back into their boxes as Britain sees the most punishing of beginnings to winter on record - I would stress tho that my great grandma probably worked through ten miles of this snow on a daily basis just to go and pick up a loaf of bread from the baker so as my good Irish friend Trevor Elvin would say theres nothing wrong with walking (just make sure you take it easy ya).
This afternoon I learnt that the Russians had clinched the hosting of the World Cup from us, it felt like we had just lost the tournament all over again. A real shame especially as we sent out the big guns, respect has to go to HRH Prince William, future King of Great Britain; aside from sending out Ross Kemp what more could we have done? I can't help but think the BBC could have waited just another week to broadcast their FIFA-Panorama...
Right time to find out who's getting kicked outta the jungle, then I've got to pack for a 4x4-drive chauffeured journey to Bruges. Quite possibility a crazier idea than sleeping on the high street of Colchester in the snow and -4 temperature.... updates to follow.
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