Well, sort of. I didn't actually get out of the house but I did work. It was another bad night after feeling pretty hopeful of getting into work before hand. I even set my alarm for normal time but after being up and down all night - stop it - I couldn't risk the journey to the office. What makes things worse is that the results aren't back from the doctors and as they were taken on Thursday I'm suspecting the incompetent tits have lost them, meaning I'll have to start the process again and it'll be another bloody week before I can get on the right anti-biotic - cue grumpy mode. By then I'll probably either be dead or over it. I'll apologise tomorrow if, by some miracle, the results show up but I don't have any faith. Getting right fed up now. Enough is enough. I'm going to be so feeble if I ever get to running again...
On a happier a note, I can at least cheer myself up by reading about the traffic chaos that is about to ensue in London. I'm looking forward to the public transport collapse almost as much as the athletics...
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