My Shite Friday
I can confidently state that this has to be one of my shittiest Fridays ever.
Here's what should have happened:
Up at 9, breakfast, pack my bags, train to Heathrow, arrive JFK, cab to Matt's in Brooklyn followed by a cocktail or two in Williamsburg.
Sounds good, huh?

Here's what actually happened:
Woke up still feeling indescribably dreadful, mid way through the worst flu I've ever had. Every bone in my body aches, I can barely walk, I've got a splitting headache and feel like I've been hit by a bus.
Optimistically hobble to the bathroom off hoping that a hot bath would sort me out. No go. Ring Virgin to change flight to tomorrow. ("Certainly sir. That'll be another £400 for the two of you")
Attempt a breakfast of toast. Can't eat it.
Retire to bed all day for a sweaty ache-a-thon.
Dinner: one piece of toast.
Still feel like shit.
Can feel my New York holiday slipping away.
Friday sucks