I don’t do that many gigs these days – a dozen a year at the outside – but tonight I’m starting a spell of three in eight days.
As a singer there’s one thing I dread more than anything else – worse even than entertaining a Hell’s Angels Convention or the 6.57 Crew at Basin’s
And there it was.
Tuesday morning a sore throat. By this morning a streaming cold that will no doubt convert to a chest sounding like a machine gun in the next day or two.
Stuffed – literally.