Sick of being sick

M. says I plan it so that I get ill. That's his way of saying 'I told you so'. He did also say "I told you so" (several times, probably relishing it each time. I clapped my hands on my ears and started humming) when I was half-dying of a headachey, feverish, horrible cold this weekend. OK, he probably was kind-of-semi-nearly-almost-half right to tell me that I shouldn't go out when I'm feeling peaky. After getting back from a bar in the early hours of Saturday morning, I didn't step out of my flat for over 48 hours and I managed to not shower for more than 24 hours. I ran out of bottled water on Sunday and felt very sorry for myself (they add fluoride to the tap water in Hong Kong which to me is unpalatable/undrinkable).

I am going to make my next bout of illness more bearable. I will stock up so that the next time I fall ill I will be surrounded by the following creature comforts:

1. Lots of shiny new books (the books Liddle Sis left me were all worn and torn);

2. Chocolate (in bars/ice cream/whatever form) and loads of minestrone soup;

3. Fruit (preferably already peeled and sliced and not watermelon);

4. More dignified pyjamas (although I suppose pyjamas are never very dignified);

5. A crateful of bottled water;

6. Boxes of Kleenex Balsam Tissue (my poor nose has been peeling from being blown so much);

7. A library of DVDs (I don't have very many) which are comic or action-packed or both and do not feature Meg Ryan; and

8. More pillows.

I may end up refusing to get out of bed for anything less than ten quid, so pampered and spoiled will I be. I will become Queen of the Rolled-Up-Balls-Of-Tissue, Mistress of the Sick Chamber, Goddess of Striped Pyjamas. Mm ha ha ha ha.