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Wednesday, June 22, 2011

As if my ability to walk (or lack thereof) wasn't enough to contend with, my prostatitis has been playing up for the last couple of days. I woke up at three-thirty this morning with the kind of pelvic agony known only to arthritic Elvis impersonators. But the good thing about getting out of bed in the middle of the night for some anti-inflammatories, is that the moment my foot hit the floor, the pain took my mind off my prostate.

Obviously I could have phoned in sick this morning, but I had to see a man about a doggedly unreliable computer this afternoon, and with impeccable timing, we're out tonight at the Britain's Got Talent live tour. So when I'm back here tomorrow, posting pictures of myself with the grinning organist woman...

... no one's going to believe I was ill.


Dave said...

I must admit I'm glad I don't have a social life, if this is what it involves.

Phil's Mum said...

I should think the pain of watching Britain's Got Talent will obliterate all the other pain.

Z said...

Pelvic agony?  Men don't know a thing.  Not that I don't sympathise, of course.