The thing I love most about being ill is how I feel like a child again, wrapped up, small, drinking hot ribena, luxuriating in just the right degree of self pity. I am actually trying to work here on my sofa, but instead I keep dozing off and dreaming of crocodiles. Funnily enough, I also wonder if this is what it is like being old. The involuntary dozing bit anyway.

From the warmth of my room, the brightness outside successfully impersonates summer, rather diminishing the pleasure of being poorly. I suppose this cold is penance for staying out til 3am in that ghastly club in Leicester Square on Tuesday evening. On a school night! I wonder if now I am older, all misdemeanours will be paid for in like - comedy dance moves in the early hours of the morning will inevitably entail an afternoon on the sofa wheezing and snoozing like a granny. Great.

I'm not old, I'm not old, I'm not old.