Here's a lesson to you all - if you let an infection happily swim around your bladder for more than ten days then the chances are you will get VERY FUCKING ILL.

I've only just returned from London today, having been bedridden since Sunday. It all began with the mysterious crippling abdominal pains (like the ones I'd had before, only so bad they made me flinch/twitch and randomly start sobbing in pain.) On Saturday we went to the Royal London hospital to see if there was some kind person there who could fix me. I had my urine tested, which had blood in it (JOY), my temperature taken and was generally squeezed and prodded. I was given a prescription and sent away.

Saturday night I woke up in more agonizing pains but I had a lovely change Sunday night when I didn't wake up with agonizing pains but with a dire need to be sick, which I was four times in the next twelve hours. The past two days have passed in a sleepy, yet painful, blur and now the only thing that's really bothering me is a headache and on/off stomach pains, which I described to the New Bloke as being like 'someone wearing a pair of gloves covered in shards of glass squeezing it.'

And that is the most ill I have been in at least the past decade.

I also feel horrible for my boyfriend as not only did I cause him to have a shit weekend, but I've been waking him up every night (not purposefully, but it's hard not to wake up the person lying next to you when you're making noises like 'aaaarrGGGNNNHHH!') and he has exams next week. And I got so fed up with him asking whether or not I was feeling better the whole time I eventually snapped and informed him I was going to star in the new Quentin Tarantino film: Still Ill.

I came home to a worryingly large amount of post. Apparently the Inland Revenue doesn't actually believe I exist but I also won £50 on the Premium Bonds (ABOUT BLOODY TIME) so it's not all doom and gloom.

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