So I've been taking it easy on the couch, trying not to touch anything in case I make anyone else sick. I think it's all these British germs, that are new to my fragile American immune system, which have made me sick. I will be back in good form very soon because I have a supply of liquid antibiotics in the fridge. Yay! Tastes like chalk!
Which leads me nicely into...
What Tickles My Pickle About England is the NHS! The National Health Service is the publicly funded health care system in Britain and it cares not where your sick ass is from or how you got so damn sick in the first place. Get this, I'm lying in bed (again) feeling like a cat turd that's been run over (again) and don't want to talk on the phone. So Paul calls the "doctors surgery" for me and explains whats going on. They write me out a prescription, I go pick it up, I take it to the pharmacy and I get some drugs, which cost me next to nothing! I even got them to give me a new inhaler cause my other one is expired! What could be easier? No questions asked, no insurance to haggle with, no co-pays and no over priced drugs. Brilliant. I shall fear no illness again!
Personal Note to my sister Malia: It's like crack and it's here too: Britain's Next Top Model, but with lots more sass and ass.