Meanwhile, I had time to identify a series of new wheezes, associated with productive coughs. The "chick wheeze" comes first: eep eep eep eep. Then it transmogrifies (thank-you, Calvin and Hobbes, for introducing that wonderful word to the English language) into the "goose wheeze": oooonk oooonk oooonk. In its final form, the "duck-call wheeze", things are just about ready to be hacked up: aaaack gurgle aaaack gurgle aaaack gurgle. Actually, I suppose I should have called that the "Bill the Cat Wheeze", except then I couldn't have used that great line from "Surrey with the Fringe on Top" for my Entry Title.
The Socialist has hit rock-bottom boredom. Let's face it, I'm not exactly convivial companionship at the moment. He's off looking for adventure now, though he's not sure what he wants to do. Me, I know exactly what I want to do. Take my pills, drag my butt downstairs and see if anything's on the tube that I can fall asleep to.