Dripping

I’ve got a big bottle of Tylenol Cold Multi-Symptom SEVERE siting on my desk as I type this. It feels as though there are too many nouns in the name of that product, but I suppose that’s less unsettling than the bright blue liquid within. It’s working, though; after a day where it was painful to speak and my head hurt so much that I wanted an end to everything, 30 mililitres of acetaminophen, phenylephrine, dextromethophan and guaifenesin seem to have done the trick. No longer does it hurt to swallow. My nose is now dripping, but I think that’s a small price to pay for being able to think again.
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Sick

I had aching knees on Tuesday and I thought that was just the consequence of running too hard, but it turns out it’s because I’m coming down with a cold. On the flight from Tokyo to Seattle I was constantly shivering and my throat was growing ever sorer, until I could hardly speak when I got off the plane.

I managed to spiny and barge my way to Immigration and get to the head of the line, which was a good thing as I was processed swiftly, although I seem to not have fingerprints any more. The agent tried to process me a couple of times, then gave up. I’d had similar problems when I left Singapore; maybe it’s a good time to do some crimes.

Taxi to the office, then half an hour to find the meeting room everyone was in, then a day of rolling my head and blacking out. I’d only got three or four hours sleep on the plane; it was probably a mistake to watch The Hobbit, but then with all that shaking there wasn’t much else I could do. Luckily I was right in the front row so everyone could see me lolling off.

By five, incapable of speech, it was clear I was in a lot of trouble. I skipped out on the team dinner and went to my hotel, where brown phlegm began to come out of my lungs and my throat was too sore even to gargle salt water. I’m hoping that by sleeping for 15 hours my body will have the chance to purge itself, because otherwise the next few days will be really unpleasant.

Complaints from the 21st century

My plan to force my body clock onto US regional settings is half complete. I went to bed at 10:30, failed to sleep for a couple of hours, and then kept waking up either desperate for the toilet or horribly dehydrated. (I think I’m coming down with a cold, which doesn’t really help.) Reveille was at 3:15, and after a quick shower I kissed my wife goodbye and took a taxi to the airport.
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Fast is sometimes too much

I’m flying to Seattle in less than 36 hours, and I’d quite like to avoid jet lag while I’m there. On my last trip to London, I discovered the singular joy of a fresh set of clothes in my carry-on bag. Even having to change in an airport toilet, wearing clean unrumpled clothes did wonders for my wellbeing. Sadly, I touch down at Sea-Tac at 8am, then have to line up to face the grumpy belligerence of US immigration, rather than the robotic stare of the UK’s facial recognition system, and there’s nowhere I can think of to change between airport and office, unless my cabbie doesn’t mind me disrobing in the back of the car en route.
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Of babies, and saliva

Today was the third and final day of the Singapore Baby Expo, so we went down to take a look at all the baby related paraphernalia available. The Singapore Expo is like a sanitized version of Dante’s hell, but instead of circles filled with sinners there are aircraft-hangar sized spaces full of people having shouting competitions.

There is an eternity of suffering in hell. At the Expo there is an eternal electronics sale, which is always in its last day and is always full of men bellowing about bargains. The bargains are never that great; either the discount is only so much that you’re still paying 30% more than you would elsewhere, or you are buying a geriatric television manufactured from Bakelite and pig iron with a “massive” 6 inch screen (or a no-brand Chinese Android tablet, which is much the same thing).
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Sundown 2013

I think the course this year was tougher than in 2012, although that may have been because I was more familiar with Singapore this time round. Last year, running through the anonymous and mysterious building site that would become the Gardens By The Bay, I had little idea of where I was and how far I had to run. This time around, with whole year of running around the Marina Bay, I had a pretty good idea of where I was and where I should be going next, so when the route didn’t conform to my expectations that made things a bit harder to deal with.
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