Damn. I have a cold, a headache, and it feels like a thick grey band of stuff is moving slowly through my head. "How are you doing?" asked burn-out Mel as she passed me in the corridoor. "OK," I croaked, shuffling back to my room. As I opened the door, I realised that as I had walked off down the corridoor I was made that little coughing sound people make in films to signify that they're terminally ill. What a ham.
I wish I were in bed, but I have another review scheduled for this evening (Rhinocerous by Peepolykus). It's for the best. The worst thing to do is stop moving.