By rights it shouldn't be allowed, we should be resting, calmly in a darkened room, with a damp hanky on our furrowed, fevered brow, with our dearly beloved attending to our every considerable need.
But no, the public demands our presence, they said, you're not so poorly that you can't drag yourself out to do it in front of all those people.
So, despite our better judgement and against medical advice, we are being lured out of our summer slumbers to unleash yet more new material on an unsuspecting public this coming Saturday in The People's Republic of Stroud, at their very own Stroud Fringe.
Hopefully we will find some of you, dear reader, loitering around to hear our latest masterpiece by that devilishly clever songsmith, our very own Top Bloke, Roger Jackson, veteran workshop leader at BlokeFest. He has penned a plaintive ditty about the trials and tribulations and slings and arrows of being a bloke who is sick, but not receiving much sympathy - a song that has struck a chord within the group - can't think why...
As demonstrated by Brother Matt, we will soldier on manfully, even though some of us are suffering, from "Man flu"
