You know how when you’re ill and everyone is all sympathetic and wishes you well? And it makes you feel that little bit better because you know they care?

After two months of that, it starts to have an opposite effect.

I have had very little outside contact with the world, and let’s face it, I normally have very little, we’re talking a tiny small amount of contact. The tiny small contact I have had has mostly consisted of people saying all the sympathetic things and now it just pisses me off. “I hope you feel better soon!” my reply, “Yeah, me too.” Grump.

I’ve taken to asking my loved ones to kill me. I call them bastards when they refuse.

EIGHT WEEKS AND FOUR DAYS. I mean come on! Three courses of antibiotics, enough painkillers for a small country and every single pleasure in life removed and replaced with constantly throbbing teeth and a swollen nose – and my ear is still plugged so hearing is shagged too.

I find myself grateful that I can actually look at my monitor [provided the brightness and contrast are turned down and that is is for an hour or less - maybe stretched to two if I take a nap right after] and so happy that I can read books again. These ‘improvements’ are pathetically small given the amount of time, drugs and rest they have had.

So back to the doctor’s tomorrow.