I wasn't there, so I don't know

Dig takes Travelling Aunty and the gritlets to the Hong Kong History Museum today. I need to record it, even though I wasn't there. I don't know why. Maybe to remind myself how exciting a time she had.

I stayed at home staring at household squalor, dabbing at my nose with forty-two toilet rolls, and snivelling sorrowfully and self piteously, wondering if the Deathly Swine Flu Chicken Disease had finally found me.

By way of emotional comfort, Dig reminded me that if I was sick and not going anywhere, there was a bit of work I could do to earn my slice of a Hong Kong crust, and that was twenty-seven pages of corrections from an academic author who I don't like very much.

Typing that, I just remembered why I saw the first set of incomprehensible corrections, lost the will to live, and spent the afternoon lying down and drinking hot chocolate instead.