It is harder than you would think to take a sick day when you are self-employed. When you have a boss, you can phone up with the sick voice, and once they accept that you have something that is not quite typhoid and not quite the mumps, a verbal contract is signed and you can play Tony Hawks 3 all day and watch Bridget Jones 2: The Edge Of Reason (who does this DVD belong to?) because it is all that your shattered health will stand. It is the law, the law of the hardworking Joe.
But when, like today, you (self-employed in a physically untaxing job) awake with a terrible malaise after a night of confusing dreams about Audrey Tatou playing Coco Chanel, there is no one to give you license not to move the eight metres to the office area and get on with it. However, I have made a decision, and the decision is to lie on the settee groaning all day and playing "Scrabble" on the "Internet" while listening to the "cricket" and if anyone tries to stop me I will prove them wrong by perishing on the spot.
It may be time for a rest cure.