The lurgey strikes back

Started feeling really crappy last night, sort of fluey with a very sore throat, and with a limited arsenal of medication at my disposal (I am allergic to ASAs and NSAIDs), I decided to self-medicate with scotch. This, in hindsight, might not have been the wisest decision. I currently feel fluey with a very sore throat and a hangover. So much for the wagon.
 
Anyway, I did manage to sleep and feel a little better this a.m. Fielded my morning call from the Ottawackers in BC – they were out and about yesterday, having a very nice time out at Goldstream Provincial Park, and so had a lot to relate. I’m staring down the barrels of another day of working on New Zealand stuff, so I know where I would rather be.
 
Thankfully, Thursday means Europa League – and Liverpool were due to play Sparta Prague in the second leg of a semi-meaningless tie (semi-meaningless, that is, unless we lose). Thankfully we didn’t – in fact, after 14 minutes, we were 4-0 up. I began to feel guilty – and was glad that the collective foot went off the gas. It felt like bullying to be honest – how weird am I? In the end, it was 6-1 – so I was happy, but not embarrassed.
 
Decided to spend the evening with David Tennant and Olivia Colman, watching three episodes of Series 1 of Broadchurch. Whenever I go on about hating the British, I never mean its actors (with the exception of that toe-rag Laurence Fox, of course, who despite being an admirable actor is an awful arsehole). British actors are exceptional and part of a superior plane: rarely am I disappointed at the standard of acting in a British show – and Tennant, Colman – as well as Whittaker and essentially everyone else in that series, deliver a complete masterclass. It’s like watching Darwin Núñez playing football.