I got my own back yesterday and it felt marvellous. The good triumphs over the ignorant again - as it should be.

There have been one or two other devlopments as well but nothing significant in any true sense of that word.

My head cold has migrated down my spine and into all my limbs. Today is Friday and in the last 48 hours, the total of everything I've eaten is one Tim Tam - a chocolate biscuit for you non-Aussies - two Vegemite sandwiches, a fruit mince tart, about a dozen cups of coffee and maybe 20 cigarettes.

I weigh 63 kilograms. 3 kilos less than the most I've ever weighed. I wonder what I weighed last week.

My blood pressure is being kept artificially high by the shit I'm shoving up my nose to stop it dripping like a tap - which is a good thing. Having been averse to eating for the last two days, if I didn't assail my beak with pseudoephedrine inhalants, I'd pass out every time I stood up. (The joys of unbelievably low blood pressure. Don't knock it, it saved my life once. Ok knock it, you know I don't care.)

As long as they keep adrenalin infusions away from me if I land in hospital again I don't care what happens. I hate that shit. It's like having an elephant sit on your chest and they give you morphine straight after so you can actually breathe. WTF! Morphine's more addictive than smack!

I just keep telling myself it's a cold, a couple of Codrals and I'll be right as rain. No drama, no infusions, no worries, mate. She'll be right.