Hail to the God of Trifling Misfortune!

Once again, it seems, I have been struck down by the vengeance of some greater being.

I am cursed, gentle reader. But not in a big way. Nothing big like the ancient Greeks, you understand. Just little, niggly, irritating things. The sort of thing that makes you think This *always* happens to me!, and puts you in an intolerably bad mood for at least half an hour. The sort of thing you *know* you shouldn't complain about really - as worse things happen at sea and all that. You smash your favourite mug whilst doing the washing up. You miss the last eposide of the series you've been following. The cat's sick in your handbag. And you just can't help feeling a bit - aggrieved.

All this week, I've been relaxing; not doing much; taking it easy. Tomorrow, on the other hand, we're off to Cologne for a packed weekend of Stuff and Beer.

So guess which day I come down with the scratchy sort throat and woozy flushes that signal a nasty cold is on its way?

Somewhere atop a high mountain, on some immortal plain, Trevor - the God of Trifling Misfortune - is looking down and sniggering at me.