If only women could understand the real suffering that comes along with man flu
I'm away for good to the beach club. Got a job there, cleaning out toilets and harvesting cigarette butts and chewing gum from urinals. If I do well, management said I might even get my own Toilet Duck or maybe even graduate to a pot boy, after a couple of years of ducking and diving. And then, if that all goes according to plan, I might make barman.
I'd say, though, it's very hard being a barman in hot places, what with all those cocktails with suggestive names. I could teach the cocktail makers how to do a beer shandy. But that's about it.
The weather outside my sick bed is wet and windy. The sky is a pale shade of San Quentin grey.