Well, I didn’t get around to writing a proper review of last Saturday’s absolutely Goddamn awesome Foo Fighters gig at Wembley Stadium because, since then, I’ve been sick as a pike.

Even on the day of the gig I was far from ship shape and Bristol fashion. I started the morning with some low-level nasal congestion, by late-afternoon had numerous achy limbs and and I saw the evening in with some irregular and embarrassing bouts of violent and theatrical sneezing. The surprise Led Zeppelin semi-reunion seemed to sort it all out, though – temporarily at least. It’s too bad you can’t get surprise Led Zeppelin semi-reunions on the NHS. It’d work wonders for the nation’s health, especially once we get Robert Plant onboard.

Anyhow, by Sunday night my temperature had sky-rocketed and on Monday morning the nausea had kicked in. I was in no fit state to go to work, let alone write a proper review of last Saturday’s absolutely Goddamn awesome Foo Fighters gig at Wembley Stadium. I was probably in no fit state to write my name on a dusty Venetian blind, but luckily no one was expecting that of me.

On Wednesday morning I woke up to discover hideous, bulbous protrusions on my left hand and forehead. It made me look like a cross between Dan Dare’s nemesis The Mekon and a political analyst from the BBC. Now, I’m no expert on medical matters, but left hand and forehead bulbous protrusions are not traditional flu symptoms.

It turned out that a mosquito had found its way into our bedroom, and the little bastard had spent the night feasting on me. I hadn’t even realised there were mosquitoes in Birmingham, let alone that they had it in for me. Maybe it’s a global warming thing.

In any case, I’m only sharing this with you because I know you care.