Gertrude’s Diary #130 – Riddle

Here’s a riddle for you: what’s pink and green and goes rattle, rattle, rattle, hack plop? Give up? It’s me, coughing up great gobs of phlegm! The phlegm is the green bit that goes plop, in case you didn’t get it.

Yes readers, Gertrude’s been crook. The doctor reckons I had pnemonia, but what would he know. It was probably just a touch of hayfever – it’s the time of year for that and I’ve recently enjoyed many hours of extravagant sneezing and nose blowing. But I took the antibiotics prescribed anyway, and I must admit to feeling a little better after a couple of days on those. Not so much as if the air had turned to treacle and my lungs into a bacteria soaked sponge.

So I made it back to work. What lovely people I work with! So solicitous of my health and genuinely concerned with my well-being. And not only that; they’re also so pathetically grateful for any tiny task I’m able to complete for them that I can’t help leaving the office every day with a warm inner glow. “Thank you so much Gertrude. We would never have worked out how to do that. You’re a genius!” Me: “Really guys. It’s just a page break. Don’t mention it.”

I’m here at the office on Saturday morning to type my Diary and plant some sunflowers in the garden outside the office window. I think they’ll look beautiful and will remind my colleagues of my contribution to their cause, long after my contract has expired. We’re a rather underfunded operation, and consequently I use my own computer. Laptops can be a little cramped to operate for long periods, so I’ve outfitted mine with a USB keyboard and a cordless optical mouse. When I plug the receiver for the mouse into said laptop, a little box pops-up telling me that a “human interface device” has been detected. Am I the only person who finds this sort of nomenclature a little sinsiter? It sounds like something the cybermen would say: “We have detected a human interface device. Delete. Delete. Delete.”

Well, thanks for reading. I hope that your lungs are clear, wherever you are. And that you have a sunflower outside your window one day soon; a bright, smiley presence, crawling with bees and bringing happiness and sunshine with its yellow petals. Oh joy. Oh pollen. Oh bring the tissues.

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