It's not generally advised for someone to sing at the top of their lungs, as a means of curing an upper respiratory tract infection. But I wasn’t going to lie in bed and miss out on The Wombats.
Perhaps it was thanks to the copious mugs of sweet tea and lemsip – or it could have been the utterly brilliant pop music, but I felt a million dollars at the gig.
Today is another matter. I feel more lackluster than ever. I can barely string sentences together.
Ugh, why does feeling sick entail feeling miserable?