I hate doctors.

So. The cold I had turned to Something Nasty.

Much huddling under covers shivering. Appetite banjoed. Chest hurting. Green muck coughed up.

Slay, arrys_girlie, rdyfrde and sundry others encouraged me to go see the quack. I pissed and moaned but today I went. (Because yesterday I couldn't get an appointment at all.)

Had to call first thing this morning (no appointments), midday (still no appointments), then leave my number so the duty doctor could let me know if I could be squeezed into a slot (1610 thangyewverramuch, and be grateful for it.)

Verdict:

Upper respiratory infection. Bronchi inflamed but chest clear. (Bollocks, quite frankly - the only reason I'm not rattling is because it's fucking solid down there.) Chest pain purely physical strain from coughing. Tonsils like cruise missiles Just Because.

So, It's A Virus.

Which I would be less prone to if I quit smoking and lost weight.

That is it, I'm done. Never again. I am sick and tired of having bloody GPs sneering at me and passing fucking sentence on my lifestyle. I'm going to have to be bloody dying before I do that again.

Stuff it.