“ Rough” was exactly how I looked.
I looked rough because I was ill.
Two long days on shifts on the hottest days of the year prior to almost two days walking around London had left me dehydrated.
In the bustle of work and pleasure I had forgotten to drink and by Borough Market , I felt my lifelong nemesis, a rip roaring urine infection, set in.
By the time I got back to my hotel to change for Nu’s get together I was passing blood and was shaky.
I am susceptible to urine infections , for reasons I don’t need to go into here and I was angry at myself for the fuck up but I knew all I could do was to hole up in my hotel room and drink gallons of water .
So that’s what I’ve done, with around three hours sleep.
An irritating end to a lovely couple of days and I’m feeling sorry for myself
It always seems that I’ve pulled myself up by my bra straps only to come crashing down in some sort of physical or mental jacuzzi ….
I missed Nu’s party and today I will miss a mutually flirty soho lunch and cinema at the Curzon with my friend Alex which was a let down but the only thing I need now is to rehydrate, and take some prophylactic antibiotics I have at home
Hey fucking ho