Spalding’s New Year Resolutions for 2011 (chosen to reflect my hideously low reserves of will power):
1) To not molest cattle
2) To not watch any film starring Katherine Heigl
3) To not declare war on
4) To not insert my love plums into the mouth of any passing German Shepherds
5) To not start a religion entirely based around the small pile of moss I found against the toilet window last week.
6) To not write a letter of complaint to Amazon in my own effluence.
I’m confident that I will keep to every single one of those (well, maybe other than number three – I really can’t stand those chocolate munching b**tards). Therefore I won’t go through the inevitable sense of doomed failure you experience when inevitably falling off the resolution wagon – usually on or around February the 7th.
Yes, my arse my stay fat, my love handles may remain, and my lungs will stay a blasted, hideous wasteland of tar- but at least I won’t feel disappointed in myself, eh?
My annual (and seemingly never-ending) battle against those who would infect us all with their hideous germs goes on…
Today, two incidents have cemented my belief that 90% of all diseases would not be half as communicable as they are if it weren’t for the fact that people are idiots.
For example, a colleague of mine has come in to work suffering from the mother of all head colds. Said colleague is 6 foot 3 inches tall and built like a brick outhouse, so when he sneezes, the pot plants across the other side of the room shake and get covered in a spray of germ laden snot.
I’m technically this person’s senior, and have threatened to have him summarily sacked on the spot if his insistence on coming into work results in me coming down with the same virus. He grinned at me and told me to f**k off – secure in the knowledge that I know next to nothing about employment law and am a good six inches shorter than him.
The second incident occurred at lunch time in the local branch of Lloyds, where I was going through the post-Xmas ritual of checking how much money I didn’t have left in my bank account.
A woman – of largely indeterminate age, but I’m guessing between 45 and 60 – coughed into my mouth. Yes, you read that right, she coughed into my mouth.
There I was, innocently yawning in front of the electronic kiosk, when I heard her starting to hack to the left of where I was standing and I stupidly turned mid-yawn to see what the fuss was about.
Instead of doing what anyone brought up in a polite society should do – cover her mouth – this harridan was hacking and spluttering over everyone and everything in her zone of sickness.
I swear I felt a droplet of her spittle hit my tongue.
Why? WHY? Why can’t people do the decent thing when they’re ill and stay at bloody home?? Or if they do insist on coming out into the world, why can’t they dress appropriately – in a gas mask and boiler suit.
This country is miserable enough at the moment without the cretins amongst us making it even worse by bringing us all down with these horrific maladies.
Finally for this rant session, I'd just like to wish you all a fantastic New Year. Try not to get too drunk and snog somebody inappropriate.
Oh, and if you're sick...stop in for all our sakes, eh?