Corker

My God, this cold is a corker. My head feels like it’s inside a carrier bag and I can’t stop sneezing. My lips are dry, I’ve got spots everywhere, it feels like I've dived into a swimming pool and breathed in a tonne of water through my nose.

I went into Crouch End to do a series of errands and sat working in Costa for a few hours whilst the world passed by. On my way home, I shuffled straight past one of my exes, just after sneezing and wiping a soggy tissue over my face which stuck to my beard. I didn’t stop to say hello, and I hope for the life of me that he didn't recognise me and just thought I was some old, arthritic man in a hat, struggling his way down the street.

I couldn’t find any of the things I needed in Crouch End. I had a very specific list, which included mounting board card, CD cases and scouring pads. I kept walking into shops and not being able to think of the word of the thing I was looking for.  In the end I gave up and went to Muswell Hill where I know the shops a little better.

There’s nothing else to say. All I want to do is curl up on the sofa and eat huge amounts of food. What do they say? Feed a cold, starve a fever. Shame there's no food in the house.

350 years ago was not a special day for Pepys either. In fact, the most interesting thing he could think to write about was the fact that the following day was washing day.