THE SICK DAY

I'm off sick. Finally, the energy-zapping bug and tickling throat have got the better of me and as I leaned over the kitchen sink this morning, coughing up the contents of my stomach, I knew I wouldn't make it in to work.

I couldn't have picked a worse week to be ill. Gary Lineker is nowhere near finished and all day today he's been hammering away in the bathroom, each metallic blow reverberating around my head as I buried myself under the duvet.

We have tiles anyway. One wall is a checkerboard of smooth-finished, ungrouted bathroom tile; the other three, still plaster. There is no sign of a shower. There is no sign of a basin. The toilet remains but the door is off its hinges and now angled against the wall by the front door. I had to wait for Gary Lineker to nip off for his crisps before I could fly down the hall and relieve myself. You would be surprised how difficult it is to go to toilet without a bathroom door. I was ninja-speed.

So what do you do on a sick day? I've already watched several episodes of QI and read two short H.G. Wells stories. I tried making a bit of lunch but I couldn't face it. I went to sleep for a bit, but I was woken up by the sound of the house shaking and a drill rumbling into my brain. I rubbed my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror. My reflection was vibrating out of focus. It seemed to be a fuzzy image of a tramp in a t-shirt with hair like a birds' nest.

I don't have many sick days. This is probably about the fifth time in my life. At school, I was awarded a 100% attendance certificate one year. Well, I would have been, but unfortunately my music teacher had arranged a theory exam which coincided with the presentation. I was embarrassingly absent while the headmaster called me up to the front of the assembly.

Maybe I'll do a bit of work on my time-travel book. My trouble is, I get really bored and then it takes forever to get something finished. Perhaps, I find myself reflecting, that's what's happened to Gary Lineker.