I make a poor invalid. Self pity is something I try to avoid, but I'm remarkably good at it. The one time that my defenses go down, the self pity kicks in. Oh poor poor me I intone as I wander lonely as a sickly cloud around the house in agony. Oh deary deary me.

Such has been my lot for the last couple of days. Nursing myself out of a condition that I can only describe as "some sort of stomach thing". Quite what it is or what has caused it I cannot say. I can think of some possibilities, which are:

• Food poisoning
• Overeating
• Stomach bug

If it's either of the first two, then I am entirely to blame for not looking after myself. I rather hope it is not, since I was rather proud of the baking and cooking I'd performed on Wednesday night. If it was a stomach bug, then all I can say is that it had a luxuriously comfortable place to live, the little cheeky buggy naughty thingummy bob.

So, having woken up early on Thursday morning with lofty aims of getting to work on time and then trotting off to Scotland for the evening with my guitar and suitcase, my plan soon changed tack. I arrived in the office, having braved the bus journey, to find that my stomach complaint, which I discovered on waking, was not being aided by the Alka Seltzer and was worsening. After about 40 minutes in the office, I left it and took a taxi home. I left the office before I usually arrive at it. At home, my nausea and discomfort reigned supreme for much of the day, which I spent in an advanced state of confusion.

I managed a 60 minute stint in the bath, which was comfortable, but the majority of the day was lost to pain-management. I found a bizarre frame of mind where I could focus on some sort of bizarre mantra, related to new methods of software engineering, pretend it related to my pain and lull myself to sleep. I'm not quite sure how much of the day I remember. I do recall thinking of my pain as a project and each step of managing it as a "story" that needed to be divided into tasks and prioritised. Most odd.

So, with the radio for occasional company and my own sleep a great aid, I made it through to this morning. I also realised that I was too weak to do anything today except sit and find out what occasional bouts of eating and drinking do to my poor stomach... the answer... not very nice things. This may be a whole new form of dieting - the "it's too painful to eat" diet. I used to be 20 stone, but now, after weeks of fearing food lest I spend hours in agony, I weight only 19 pounds. Thank you "too painful to eat" diet.

I suppose that if this persists, I'll have to seek medical assistance. I can't help but feel that it's a repeat performance of a previous condition I suffered back in July/August. Something which required me to feel really bad for a few hours and then suffer occasional twinges over the course of subsequent days when breathing in. I'm not afraid of the doctor, of course - yesterday I was poised to take myself off to the hospital, I was in so much pain - but I'm equally afeared of wasting some G.P.'s time with stories like "ooh, it hurt a bit - I felt sick... I was sick a bit... but not too badly... what? get out of your office? what? now? ok...".

Men. Pah!

So, I've achieved little in the last few days. I'm rather disappointed, but such is life. I did manage to watch another of my DVDs from the backlog. This time it was Moulin Rouge. Moulin Rouge is a bizarre film and I'm left almost, but not entirely, mystified by it. I enjoyed it though. It was better watching it on my TV than when I saw a part of it on a plane, while bound for the states, and decided that it looked a load of rubbish.

And it had Kylie in it.

And Nicole.

And Ewan MacGregor sounded a bit too Scottish... not that I mind people sounding Scottish, but it sounded more like he'd lapsed into it than been asked to speak in that voice.

And sleep.