Codeine Inside

I have not engaged in bloggery for a while because (1) I had even less than usual to say and (2) I have been injured.

Re (2) I don't expect your sympathy or even interest - frankly you can keep both of them. Pity savours of the mob, as that mad Hun with the bushy moustache once said.

But everything in life is material to your intrepid reporter and, as I write for me, the most interesting material is that which pertains to my dull and trivial existence. And what has been uppermost in that over the last week is pain.

So what I want to write is that dihydrocodeine tartrate is a wonderful thing. A wonderful, wonderful thing. Yes folks, thanks to codeine (and let's not forget valium, while we're at it), I am a functioning human being. I may not be a particularly pleasant one and I'm certainly not a very effective one, as I am still a semi-cripple; but I am able to hobble around London with my walking stick and glare at foreigners, children, and other wretches with something like my usual aplomb. When I am better, I have to leave the stick at home, for fear of belabouring people with it.

I often wonder whether I am such a misanthropist because I am in a state of low level discomfort for much of the time. But then I think about it and think, no, that's not it. I'm just not a very tolerant man.