Greetings from the typhoid ward.

Well. We don't have typhoid, but each of us could be a servicible extra in one of those poorhouse/sickhouse scenes in a Dickens movie. Rattling coughs, sniffles, the whole nine yards. Which is probably why we ended up with this conversation:

( Cut for mentions of phlegm! )

I wish you could have seen the dance that went with that.