REMOTELY CONNECTED

I'm still ill. I coughed through the night, muscles pounding with pain with each spasm, and sweat and tears dripping from my face.

I thought of the neighbours. There's little doubt I've kept them all awake this week, hacking and rasping through the walls. Still, there's not much I can do. While I'm sure they'd be in favour of anything from decapitation downwards, I'm not so sure that works for me.

My ear's a little better. It's still oozing. I can't hear out of it, which makes playing the piano difficult. I can hear my breathing inside my head, I can hear me sniffing and chomping, but everything beyond that, sounds muffled and bassy.

The worst of it is that I have to struggle on with work, thanks to a complicated situation I can't ignore.

"You sound healthy," said someone yesterday. No-one does sarcasm like British people, I thought inside my reverberating head.

That muffled disconnection makes me feel as though I'm not really here. I'm looking at the world through a watery lens and I'm hearing everything as though it's being transmitted along a yoghurt pot telephone. It's all very remote. And I'm not sure I'm really here.

I'm going home I think. Maybe I'll get on better if I'm connected remotely to the office... instead of not being remotely connected.