I always thought I'd be a grown up when I grew up

This lurgy appears to be viral. Possibly not flu, after all, but certainly energy-sapping and 'orrible.

I spent most of Christmas Day (and Christmas Eve, and Boxing Day) in bed, comatose. I did manage some turkey and sprouts (mmm, sprouts) and then went straight back to bed. I can just about (even now) cope with half an hour or so of concentration (for example, winning Scrabble) and then need Yet More Sleep.

Most disturbingly of all, I've been off tea.

Dad managed to prove that he's not always an arse (although I might have slept through evidence to the contrary) and decided that his screaming flying monkey was the best present he'd ever got.

Today I'm in the office, theoretically finishing the UK tax return but in actuality trying to concentrate and focus. So far, 2 out of 3 people have told me I look like death cooled down.

Both Yuletide and Scribblemoose are blocked from work. Bah, Humbug. Speaking of Yuletide, though, I got an adorable Antique Bakery fic and an equally adorable and Terribly Manly Fenndom one, too! Hurrah for gaily ejaculating soldiers! AND! Despite the author reveal not happening until 1 Jan, I've been recced! (Only once, but That's Not The Point.) Whee!

Ok; all that was far too exciting. I'm going to stare blankly at a spreadsheet again for a bit.