Pork party

Haven't got Swine Flu yet, and am a bit disappointed in the progress of the pandemic so far. From what I gather, some public school youts in Dulwich had the sniffles and didn't die. It's hardly the pandemonium I hoped for.

I was looking forward to catching it and having a week off work. I would get the long-awaited opportunity to indulge in some back to back lie-ins, catch up on some reading and feast on Internet pornography. Ideally my flatmates would remain untouched by the virus, so I could have the flat all to myself during the working day. My flatmate Nick would come home to find me wrapped in his Telly blanket, watching one of his favourite flicks on DVD. I imagine the following scene would unfold:

Me: Good day at work Nick?

Nick: Not really, why are you home? Why are you in my blanket?

Me: Aaargh, enough with the questions, I'm really ill mate. Swine flu.

Nick: What? Can you get out of my blanket then? And shouldn't you be in your room?

Me: Well I haven't got a DVD player in there have I? Or a television.

Nick: What you watching?

Me: 'The Science of Sleep'. It's dog shit.

Nick: Can you take off my blanket?

Me: OK (I then let off an almighty guff, and remove the blanket)

As well as irritating my flatmates, I would finally be able to set up a medieval banquet of porn in the living room. Operating both mine and my flatmates laptops simultaneously, I could create a festival of graphic sexual images. I could be sponsored by Tamiflu and distribute wristbands to fellow flu sufferers as well as a selection of the local destitute alcoholics. Unfortunately, it appears that my dreams are not to be realised (thanks for nothing God!).

Alleyn's is only a hop, skip and a jump from me, so I was considering popping round to say "hi". In order to enhance my prospects for contamination (and for a laugh) I could run around the playground shirtless, kissing the frightened children's heads. I may even bellow "PLAYTIME IS OVER!" as I cavort with the privileged offspring of GMTV's Andrew Castle.