Being Ill

The world started to spin or i started to notice that it always had been spinning. I woke up in a pool of my own sweat, my body on fire and on ice at once. It could only mean one thing...i was sick. I spent the rest of the night trying to get the motivation to vomit. The motivation never came and by the morning there was nothing left in my stomach so i spent twenty delightful minutes dry retching into the white porcelin. I believe the delerium had set in by then, becuase i spent at least ten of those minutes intermitently cleaning the stupid toilet. You never really notice how dirty they are until you are on your hands and knees in front of it.

I spent the next four whole days in bed. I had a fever which seared my eyeballs everytime i blinked. I was genuinely suprised not to hear the sizzle of my tears violently evaporating as my skin touched them. Exhaling through my nose, when i could, felt like two tiny hairdryers had been shoved somewhere up into my nasal cavity, switched on and left to melt themselves to destruction. After day two i worked out what i had to do when the wave of fever crashed in. Sit up flannel, containing ice on head, knees uncovered (essential) and eating ice as fast as i could.

I felt drunk on the delerium. But not drunk in an at-the-pub with your friends sort of way. More like drunk at your gran's house. I didn't want to feel drunk. I didn't want to be fixated on the most rediculous things for hours on end. For example how many people groups in the world end in "-ese". e.g. Chinese. The answer is ten by the way. Good luck. Or the number fifteen thousand. I couldn't get rid of that one for a day and a half.

I'm pretty sure I'd be dead by now if it wasn't for Lucia.

I rang NHS 24. This is called a waste of time. Though we did have a bit of a laugh when the woman told me to put my chin on my chest. I was trying to do it with my mouth closed. Which doesn't work at all for me. I think i must have a small chin.

Householding

Look everyone it's me and Lucia in our flat. This was the very second day after we moved in. The photo stars a wine bottle which was given to us by the shop Lucia worked in in Elie. As I remember it was quite nice. Also in shot you can see our fine bare floorboards, dating all the was back to one hundred years ago when the flat was built. A sharp contrast to the futon we are sitting on which was constructed not more than an hour previously.

Owning a flat is a bit weird. A foot or so below my feet is a ceiling belonging to Mr Caves, a really rather nice man who is a history teacher. Directly in front of me not more than two metres is a wall, which is painted and cared for on one side by us and on the other by someone else entirely. A man named Erol. Perhaps about twelve metres behind me is a similar wall which we share with Dave and Elaine. Above me is the roof space, which I'm told, everyone shares, even the people in the flats way down on the bottom and not even in the stairwell.

So I'm trying to work out exactly what we just spent £145 000 on.

Air.

Space.

We are living in a very expensive gap. Not the one with all the trendy clothes you feel a little bit guilty about buying because they were probably made in a sweat shop. Not a sweet shop, which would be altogether more acceptable. But a common-or-garden GAP.

Next time you're in a large open sapce take a glance about fifty or sixty feet up into the air and imagine a large rectangular cuboid 20m x 4m x 8m. That's what we own. (all measurments are approximate and do not form part of the contract of sale)

Do come and visit.

Things you shouldn't think about while...

...Cleaning the toilets at Starbucks.

1. The faces of all the customers you have served that day, knowing that it was one of them who didn't feel too well and made that mess.

2. How much you've spent on your education.

3. Revenge.