Listening to: North Country Boy (The Charlatans)
Drinking: pints of Lemsip
Weather: Buy one season, get all four free in the same day
I've got a cold. The first for two years as far as I can remember, certainly the first since I gave up working in an office 18 months ago.
There's an advert on TV at the moment where the claim is that the blocked up feeling in our noses is swollen blood vessels, not snot.
Nonsense. . . it's snot. Buckets and buckets of the stuff.
And before anyone starts, it's not man-flu, I don't feel too bad, it's just very messy and a bit inconvenient. Try depositing a cheque into your bank account while simultaneously battling to stop the drips falling off the end of your nose onto the counter in front of an appalled bank clerk.
To make matters worse, my eyes are streaming. The left one - an attractive shade of scarlet - is sending a constant trickle down my cheek.
I boarded the ferry back to Orkney this morning weeping like the jilted sister of one of Jane Austen's heroines.
"Oh Henrietta, I am all undone. Mr D'Astardly has lent his handkerchief to Amelia Aston-Martin - when he led me to believe all his linen was to be mine alone.
"Oh Charlotte, the bounder. Still, there's always plan B - borrow some tissues from Colonel Stern, the tall, moody suitor with a dark secret, but without the necessary facial muscles to crack a smile.
"But Henrietta, will father sanction such an exchange? He's very particular where I blow my nose.
"Father is away planning to blow up a French chateau full of Nazi officers with Lee Marvin and Telly Savalas, thereby saving himself from the hangman's noose.
"Oh why must my happiness always come second to the downfall of the Third Reich?"
See? Told you I was ill.