Though not quite in the Geoffrey Barnard sense though he wished he were.
For he has not been alltogether well for some time, though a lot of that is down to stress.
However now, and since returning from the Birmingham Autism study weekend it seems he has brought back more than he bargained for and is labouring under the mother of all sore throats, convinced as he has never been convinced, since the last time he were so belaboured (and not at all conservative about it) that he is not long for this world. Not that he thought he were that long for it before and now is even less long, clocks going forward notwithstanding.
So there you have it, he is idling away and in a way at least, (or not so long) enforced into restation for restitutions sake. (forced to rest as lesser mortals and those who are not George Dubya would have it)
So that is why I have not blogged or blagged and so have sagged, the sagacity and sargassoty thereof hereunto subscribed.
In other words, practically everything will have to wait until I throw this off, then perhaps I can go back to being even less long for this world, the interval having passed away as surely as a ship of fools in the night and fog of dreary existence.