This afternoon I'm getting the train up to Leeds for Wayne's birthday and I'm pissed off. Not only do I have the flu, again, but because of that I've only been to the gym once this week as I've been extremely concerned that working out will make me even more sick.
Oh yeah, and I also have a cough that sounds like a Doberman barking.
Wayne, the Scoobies and I are all going to Federation tomorrow night and I'll invariably, at some point during the evening, be taking my top off. Only now I'll be prominently displaying chicken fillets (as Trinny and Susannah would call them) and not a fine pair of disco tits! That said, my chest is always going to be in the shadows of Wayne and Sam's pneumatic pectoral glory.
Of course, this all plays second fiddle to the more legitimate concern - that being, what if I get hit on by some hot, young Yorkshire-bred whippersnapper and I affirm my interest by inadvertently coughing phlegm up onto him?
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