It's Saturday morning and I wearily wake from my much needed lie in. The second thing I do, after wiping the sleep from my eyes is to look out the window. Brilliant I think to myself - it's actually sunny! Then I realise something is amock with my good mood; I'm ill. Yep, I've been feeling fine, spritely even, all week and the second the weekend comes I feel positively awful. I hastily lay back down again and try to recall last night's activities. Okay, there were a few cheeky drinks after work but I was quite certain there weren't any drinking games that involved the loser swallowing splinters of glass as a forfeit.
Sunday is the same. I am forced to cancel long standing plans which happened to have involved stockades of ice cream; my favourite 'food'. I am left wallowing alone in my own misery.
It's Monday before I know it, and unable to stay off work, I make my way to the Doctor. It's confirmed: I have an acute case of tonsilitis. Joy. I pick up what seems like a lifetime's supply of penicillin on my way into the office and once there I'm greeted with a 'Wow, you don't look so good!'. 'Thanks', I croak impatiently and flounce off, penicillin and Starbucks in tow.
The whole working week is like groundhog day: I can't skip work, I get in late, people tell me I look sick, I tell them that's because I am sick, I perform a limited number of button monkey tasks, I go home early - penicillin and Blackberry in tow.
I should be drafting that Freedom of Information request I think to myself as I lie in bed with South Park on in the background; the Blackberry laying silently beside me. I fantasise about munching on Haagen Dazs and glugging down a glass or two of Rioja. Hmpf. I have to turn the DVD off as it hurts to laugh even, let alone eat and drink fine foodstuffs. At least I might lose some weight I hope.
I am bored, and for the first time in the two years I've been single, I feel very alone. I look to the Blackberry for some reassurance that this is in fact not the case and that I'm being paranoid. Still silent. I pick up my mobile and realise that my last text was a travel alert telling me my train home was delayed. No one had called to see if I was feeling better and suddenly a part of me wished I were a child again. Sometimes I think it's easy to forget you're an adult most of the time, and a fiercely independent one at that. It's not until you're at home, ill and alone that you realise girl power really does belong on the early 90's reject pile - and all you really want is for someone who loves you to be there looking after you.
Failing that, the Blackberry offered me a game of 'Bubble Bubble' which clearly was an on-par alternative. Eight games later and having scored a new personal best; me and BB caught some Zzzs.
And so on it went until I was penicillin-free, thinner, bordering tee-totaldom and recognising I was in need of some change. For help, I tried not to turn to trusty BB in the first instance, even though we'd grown so close.
Instead, I contemplated re-posting an old online dating profile. Then, remembering just why I had 'unposted it' in the first place, BB's sleek contours found themselves safely back in my palm.
I guess Bubble Bubble and plenty of echinacea will just have to do for now.