Bear with me, I am coming out of the fog. My head throbbing, my voice like Rod Stewart's after a full concert, and the coughing, well I think it sounds pretty damn impressive. I tried to do this nicely, thyme tea with honey, plenty of rest and fluids, but no, the lab report was nasty and so plan B or rather antibiotics for five days. We shall see. My intestines will have a fabulous time.
Imagine a very unhappy teenager in a small grey town in Northern England sometime in the early 1970s, she doesn't understand most of what people are saying, she has been kicked out of school because she refuses to wear the ridiculous uniform, especially not that awful bowler hat. Her host family doesn't know and so she walks around town, spends hours in Woolworths when it rains, sampling the blue nail varnish and the glitter hair spray. She wants to feel so very much aloof and haughty and cool but really she is scared and lonely. With her last money, she walks into a hairdresser's and points to the Rod Stewart poster. Hair with attitude. She needs that now.
Happy 70th birthday Rod Stewart, you wear it well.