The geese are getting fat

Ooh, I know what I forgot to record. And it's momentous, truly massive news: I have booked my ticket to Glastonbury 2009 and every time I think about it, I am hit by a brief but violently whirring influx of butterflies. I have been wanting and intending to go to Glastonbury since I was about 20, and I have never had the money or the companion or the free time or the nerve all at once. And suddenly, I realised that if I wasn't careful, I would be a 45 year old ex-music-obsessive who has never attended the greatest music festival in my home country, possibly the world. Sure: it'll be muddy and rainy and cold and miserable, and there will be horrible queues and terrible food and loos like cesspits, and all my stuff will get nicked and someone will be sick down my back and I'll get separated from my friends and my tent will be moved in the middle of the day when I'm nowhere near it, so that when I stumble back late at night / early in the morning, I can't find it, and I'll end up crying and sleeping around some weird Druid's campfire but I can't flipping wait. I've heard that Elbow are playing, which is good enough in itself - but rumour has it that the reformed Blur are headlining, which would be the best thing ever, with the possible exception of the news that Bruce Springsteen may also be on the bill. I know it's madness, I know I'll hate every second, but I want to go and I won't be beaten. I can always come home.

My week thus far has been dominated by my physical weaknesses. From Monday to this morning, I have had a fairly horrific cold, involving sweating and coughing and aching ribs etc. I was so ill that I left one of our work Christmas lunches yesterday without even seeing, let alone eating, the pudding that I'd already paid for, effectively turning down free food, something I don't think I've ever done before. I'm still feeling a bit confused about that. Anyway, as one condition improved, another developed, and I am now healthy of throat but in agony of jaw, as my lower left wisdom tooth has decided that now is a good time for its annual growth spurt. This usually lasts for around a week and involves a lot of hot, pulsating gum sensations, with me rubbing my cheek a lot in a bid for sympathy, applying oil of cloves to the painful area and then retching as some of it sneaks down my throat. Revolting.

I was meant to be out tonight at a speed dating event that was being filmed for the pilot of a new TV show - my friend from choir was coordinating it for the production company and roped me in, but then told me today that their computers had been wiped out by a virus, she'd lost almost everyone's details and she suspected that tonight's gathering might not be the hotbed of male talent she had initially promised. Instead, I finished my Christmas shopping, came home, donned my festive velour (a red nightdress covered in white snowflakes), put the iPod on Christmassy shuffle, ate a lot of chocolate and then began a marathon gift wrapping session accompanied by a couple of glasses of white wine. It was all very civilised and I am now exhausted. Tomorrow evening I have a date with a guy who had to leave his sister's wedding because he thought he was dying of SARS. He is absolutely extraordinary and I can't wait to meet him. Full report back in due course. Now I'm going to top up my glass, watch last night's Desperate Housewives and go to bed. Couldn't be happier.