Still here, still coughing like I am about to turn myself inside-out. It's just lovely.
Oh, please feel free to skip this bit if you are easily distressed, or suffer from a snot phobia, by the way. Or pretend this is an episode of House. Whatever.
Actually, if Dr House could spare me a couple of hours, I'd be very grateful.
Anyhoo. As a change today, the previously fluorescent yellow matter emerging from every single hole in my head has turned pink, streaked with blood. I am assuming that this is normal.
The doctor listened to my rattly chest yesterday. He said: "Ugh. Well, you've sounded worse," and prescribed me a week's worth of huge antibiotic horse pills. On closer examination of the leaflet that came in the box with them, I discover that I am potentially being treated for:
2) Lung and chest infections
Or, of course, a combination of all three.
The pharmacist came out to talk to me confidentially when I picked up my prescription (almost £8! Per item! Free medical care my arse!) to whisper that if I am taking contraceptive pills, I need to take "additional precautions" for 2 weeks. "Additional precautions" on top of the blood-streaked snot and hacking 90-year-old-man cough, you mean?
What virile chap could resist that? Especially if the snotty, wheezing, grumpy temptress is sitting on the sofa wearing a huge fluffy pink bathrobe and an expression of sour misery?
Yeah, you're wishing I had a webcam now, ain'tcha?
I could charge people to listen to my chest rattle. Hot phlegm action, £8 per 3 minutes. Well, I have to cover the prescription costs somehow.
Other news: Father-in-law is still in hospital, but slightly more comfortable today, whatever the hell that means. We're going to go and see him tomorrow, although in reality it will probably be me sitting outside the ward trying not to spread contagion while Mr WithaY goes to see his dad.
Also, have lost another 3 pounds this week. That makes 16 pounds in 12 weeks, which I am really pleased about. If I keep it up for another 36 weeks I will be 64 pounds lighter, or 4.5 stone. Which will be marvellous.
Last week I put on a pair of plain black trousers to wear to the office, as I usually do. I did them up and they were a bit loose. But, one pair of my black work trousers has always been a bit loose, despite being the same size as the others so I didn't worry about it.
I got to the station, got on the train, got to London. All was well with the world. However, as I started walking across Waterloo Station concourse, I realised with horror that my trousers were heading South.
I grabbed the waistband (through my coat, very chic) and walked ve-e-e-e-ery carefully to the taxi rank. Well, I didn't dare risk the Underground. Once safely in the office I begged a safety pin from a helpful colleague and did a MacGyver-esque job of reducing the waist of my trousers temporarily. Had the trousers been designed with belt loops I'd have nipped over to Marks and Spencer and bought a belt, but of course they didn't.
They are now folded up neatly in a drawer, waiting for the day when I can put them on over the top of another pair of trousers and pose for Before and After pictures. That day will come.