Where did this cold come from? What's happening? I've already had a cold this year. How can I have another one? Am I some kind of weakling? Am I a Victorian street urchin? Is Oliver Twist my best friend and does he steal all the blanket in the draughty orphanage hall every night when we're huddled up on the stone floor?
I'm outraged.
I don't need a cold. I need to be on top of everything, steaming through the first draught of Jimmy Coates: Blackout and announcing to the world the arrival of Jimmy Coates: Power.
I bet Oliver Twist couldn't even read. He'd be useless to me. All of that blanket, all of those extra portions of gruel he puts away.. he's a little illiterate porker, that's what Oliver Twist is. Get out of my way, Twist. I've got a book to write. Get your urchin germs away from me.
Phew. I feel a bit better now. Sometimes a good rant is as good as a Lemsip.
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