I phoned for an appointment with Doc this morning.

I finally cracked. I was pissed off with being a literal face-ache.

So once I had convinced them that I wasn’t a plague carrier [not an easy job] I got an appointment straight away. This has never happened before. All his other patients must be dead.

Down I went and straight into Doc. He asked me how I was, but then retracted before i could give my usual response [“I’m fine Doc. I’m just here for the craic”]. He knows me too well. I told him all my symptoms – the incredibly painful nose if anyone touches it, the difficulty breathing, the headaches, the feeling that someone has shoved gorse up my nose and the permanent all pervading stench of rotten flesh.

Naturally the first thing he did was touch my nose.

I yelled.

So we went through a long string of questions, and he hummed and hawed a bit before launching into a long and technical description of what was going on, which was about as intelligible as a doctor’s handwriting.

“Ah” says I, “You mean a Septal Haematoma?”

He looked a bit surprised but nodded sagely and said it had gone beyond that. He called it a Septal Something-or-other-else-atoma and wrote out a series of prescriptions. He had given me antibiotics before but apparently the new lot was The Fifth Fleet [including battle-cruisers] and they should do the job. If they didn’t then it seems he’ll apply the nuclear option and pack me off to hospital.

He asked me if I had broken my nose recently such as a fight in the pub [fucking nerve] but I told him I always left before the punches started flying. So he told me it was probably started by a nostril hair follicle becoming infected which is a bit of an anticlimax after his first suggestion.

So I left then and went to join the queue outside the chemist.

There wasn’t one.

The chemist was closed for lunch which is a new thing since the start of the outbreak..

That fucking virus screws me at every turn.