I just had an experience so good it was almost orgasmic.

Did Sharleen Spiteri just run her hand up my thigh? No. Sadly not. But that's just given me a fantasy to enjoy later on.

I've had a spot, on the bridge of my nose for days now. It was rock solid, unburstable and incredibly painful. And I just finally managed to squeeze the bugger. It was immesurably satisfying (well, that might be an over-exaggeration. Sharleen Spteri running her hand up my thigh would be immeasurably satisfying).

I'm talking about bursting spots... and I'm currently wearing white trainers. I really feel like I've come over all Essex (note the word order in that sentence. One absent minded typing error and I could be proclaiming unrealistic ejaculatory skills). Anyway....

I think the last 24 hours have fully qualified me as a hypochondriac. First I was convinced I put my back out whilst trying to impersonate George Michael (best not ask, but, I assure you that there were no toilets involved in my impersonations), then I became convinced that the pain in and around my eye was a brain tumour caused by the black mould growing around my windows that I noticed earlier on. Apparently in Holland they warn you in public information films (starring Emma Kennedy whose blog is the source of this piece of knowledge) about how mould caused by drying your clothes inside without proper ventilation causes cancer, we get no such warnings. Which is silly... Your mother tells you to always wear clean knickers incase you have an accident and end up in hospital. She negates to tell you that having clean pants could be the cause of you ending up in an ambulance in the first place.

On the subject of cleanliness in the pants region... the other night I found myself with BBC Three on as background noise, and ended up half-heartedly watching a documentary about sexually transmitted diseases amongst backpackers in Sydney. I got to see an Irish guy having growths frozen off his penis which is always what you need to see just before you settle down to sleep. They also showed Mr Irish Backpacker Man receiving his set of blood test results.

The woman in the clinic who gave him his results had a distinct Chris Tarrant air about her. I thought this was incredibly cruel, as she gave the poor scared guy his results in the follwing style:

"Hepatitis B..................................................................All clear

"Hepatits C...................................................................All clear."

I was just waiting for:

"HIV..................................... We'll be right back after this break."