I know you’ve all been waiting patiently to hear about my great misadventures over the New Year period. You were imagining all sorts I’ll bet, the Wicky Digit full to the rafters, firemen actually getting their kit off and Onda grabbing a sneaky snog off Knuckles as the clock struck midnight while I screamed at the top of my voice…..Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz! Wait what!? Yes you heard right, the only sound to escape my lips was most likely a wee snore or two, because I slept through the whole fecking thing.

It all started on Boxing day, and at first I blamed the Brussel sprouts, the usual cause of trouser trumps of such magnitude, but then I remembered I hadn’t actually had any, so there was clearly something more sinister going on. The Usain Bolt sprints for the bathroom followed a short time later along with that age old dilemma, can you reach the sink, when you’re shitting sitting on the toilet, thankfully in my case, yes, yes you can. Blessed relief.

I made it back to the sofa with only minutes to spare, so close to deaths door was I. Me!? A Drama Queen!? Never!

Onda came to visit me and brought tissues and oranges….Terry’s Chocolate Oranges. I tried to point out that not even a Dyson was going to be able to suck Vitamen C out of that bad boy, but it just wasn’t sinking in.

Me: Onda, I’m not long for this world. I think I’ve got Man Flu.

Onda: S’not.

Me: No seriously I think it is, I’m more sick than a big sick thing schooled at the school of sickness.

Onda: S’not (more high pitched this time).

Me: It feckin is!

Onda: No! Snot, wipe your nose you dirty clart, it’s dripping on the carpet.

There was very little sympathy after that, and according to Onda, who it would appear is a bit of a drama queen herself, what came out my nose was worthy of a scene from the Exorcist. As the saying here goes, the snotters were tripping me.

I’d been so looking forward to the New Year, I had every intention of starting it off with a bang, assuming I was able to lure someone back to my humble abode that is, but all I got was a crick in my neck from sleeping at an awkward angle on the sofa all night. I didn’t even realise it was New Years Day until I heard my next door neighbours in the back garden belting out Horse it into ya Cynthia by Farmer Dan, a sure fire sign that the night before has been a resounding success.

So there you have it, I May Dupp was a New Year failure. Let’s hope for a little more excitement in 2015 eh!