The Beak

I know, I know, I've not been around much lately, apart from the occasional tweet (hey, have you seen my Twitter sidebar? Have you? Have you?) about being hungry, which is pretty much a permanent condition at the moment.

I have been translating. There has been much translating of the translatey stuff by the translator of late.

I have also been growing a beak, or at least, it feels that way.

I've suffered from (yes, suffered from is definitely the right phrase) cold sores as long as I can imagine, and, as my immune system's been a bit busy dealing with colds recently, they've got me again. That's what I really hate about them. They really do kick you when you're down. The swines. (I might use a stronger word here, but this is the Internets, and it doesn't do to say anything on the Internets you wouldn't want your parents/inlaws/younger siblings to hear. Close brackets).

Anyway, cold sores vary in terms of pain levels. Some look bad but don't hurt much, at least after the first day or so. Some make my whole face ache for a week. This particular one feels like I'm growing a beak, and ohhh, it HURTS. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

When I said "no more penguins", I thought that implied I didn't want to be one either. Clearly, I was wronk. (I meant to type "wrong", but I quite like "wronk", so I'm going to leave it there).

Back to the cupboard now (that's where the paracetamol is).