25 09 2008

Utterly miserable

Teething problems.  There’s only so many times you can be reconstructed before you’re inherently broken.

This time around Matron skimped on the immune system.

So I’m not well.

Not well.

Bereft of wellness.


Tissue please.


So what’s to do? 

I need weak lemon drink.  Copious quantities.  Enough to engulf a small terrace flat.

Maybe more.


And so started my quest to create an eternal supply of the magical liquid.

It must be weak.  It must be lemon coloured.  It must be ever plentiful.

I care little for the taste, for it shall surely be lightly golden yellow and weak.

The last batch I had was orange and it smelt of curry.  I didn’t enjoy that one bit.  And then there was the batch that Matron provided.  It was robust and warm – not in the least bit weak.  I politely spat it into a nearby geranium.

So I’m still on my quest to find the best solution to my solution predicament.


Oh… and the geranium died.