Well it had to get me, finally. I'm the last skittle standing, the last couple in a dance marathon. I'm Bruce Willis in Die Hard. But, it got me. I've probably had it for a day or two. Thursday I definitely had that "I'm coming down with something" feeling, popped some Lem-sip capsules, and went to work. In my defence, I had three recruitment campaigns all crowning in the space of two days. What are you going to do? Much as I hate recruitment, I had to do it, so I went in.
In my defence, most people I know have already had COVID. In my defence, I thought that after two years maybe I wasn't going to get it. In my defence, I've only got a sniffle. But I took my last (free) lateral flow test and the positive result was unmistakable. Blaring. Visible from Portsmouth.
So that's me gone viral. It's my own fault. I've been carrying a mask in my bag and not wearing it. It feels naughty but good, like eating two Grab Bags of Walker's Crisps. But a mask in your bag will not do much for you.
I've now ordered my first non-free box of LFTs, so that I can find out when I'm able to go back to work. Of course, the nature of work these days means I can do most of it from home. Technically I'm sick, but I've been bouncing up and down stairs this week shepherding candidates around. Ironically today while doing that I was wearing my coronavirus leggings. (My design, but not my legs).
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