I am ill. Again. Yes, again.
If things go on like this, I might have to consider giving up the cigarettes for good. Plus, I have this fabulous new red wooly jumper that keeps leaving unpleasant fluff on my butts - my cigarette butts, I'm just not flexible enough to check my rear end for fluff. This whole sentence is wrong on so many levels that I might just keep going down that particular track until my whole mental credibility is down the toilet. There. That should wrap it up nicely.
Needless to say, I am not looking forward to that particular prospect - giving up the ciggies, that is, I'm kind of used to imagining the whooshing sound of my reputation as it whirls its way down the drain by now - especially as the tobacconists' protest in France is so effective, seven months prior to the elections, that the government has already postponed the smoking ban for one year. Forget public health if it means winning the presidentials, right? I mean, they did get rid of an awful lot of people during the 2003 heatwave, surely a surge in the lung cancer statistics could kill two birds with one stone: contribute toward the complete resolution of the pension problem (again, the heatwave helped) and ensure that we're so busy smoking ourselves to death that we kind of forget to hold our leaders accountable for... whatever.
Damn. I'm obviously running a fever.