Under the weather:

your host has been a walking catarrh factory for the past five days or so, and the whirlwind of exciting, edifying and educational events that normally find their way to the pages of the RF had to be pared down only to essential drinking activities. Fortunately the week abounded with such opportunities, challenging me in my weakened state but injecting a little hazy light into my mucous-filled gloom.

I variously went out with Paul, Ash and her workmates, my sister and a plethora of mafia types for a variety of "quiet" nights out, birthday parties and leaving parties. I really enjoyed myself; despite feeling like death most of the time (yes, yes, going to the pub when one is already feeling ropey isn't the best course of action) I rediscovered the good old fashioned "night out with your mates" - it's been a while since I've been out with the mafia en masse and I felt a warm glow in the pit of my stomach. Along with some recurrent nausea, but that was just the cold making its presence felt.

Apart from that, I went to see Severance with Ash (meh; sort of a low-rent Dog Soldiers, and correspondingly not quite so good) and pulled the plug on TM.net. Despite the fact that it was cobbled together by Martin and I over the course of a few Stella-soaked evenings, and consequently was held together mostly by rubber bands and spit, it's still a shame to see it go.

Ah well: stay tuned for more news on the Coba Fynn front...

Now that I can breathe without involuntarily exhaling liquid snot, normal service will be resumed soon.