Escape from the abyss

Reports of my death have been exaggerated, but not by much. I dodged the swiping scythe of death as he rode legs akimbo on the beastly back of the devil griffith that is manflu.

When one faces down the Grim Reaper it makes one reflective of the world and one's place in it. The great organ grinder in the sky saw fit to spare me. What should I do with His gift of life?

So far I have made and gobbled spaghetti bolognese. A fitting tribute, yes?

In case it is not enough I have made a list of the smells that I am grateful for.

1. Tippex
2. Petrol/diesel
3. Red wine
4. Desperation

R.I.P.

Dying of flu. If I don't make it, tell my family I sort of loved them.