The plan for 2016 was to post a potsage [sic] here every day. In January, I succeeded, but come the first day of the second month and the plan was as dust and ashes in my mouth. Yesterday I felt decidedly uurrgghh and lay abed, with occasional visits to the Thunder Box, over which we shall draw a heavy black veil. Today I feel almost equally uurrgghh. However, quite fortuitously, I posted two potsages on Sunday. I think what we shall do is to pretend that the RIP for Jacques Rivette actually appeared yesterday, and prance on regardless. I hope to feel less uurrgghh tomorrow, Now, back to bed.
Your addled viscera are in our thoughts and prayers at what I’m sure must be a very difficult time.
No doubt you will be up and across the tarputa before we can say “Googie Withers”.
I’d recommend a restorative pilgrimage to Mudchute, but given the nature of your malady perhaps not.
Get well soon, mon brave, and may your every potsage be accompanied by a fine pot of sage.