Tom Neale sitting on his bed on Suwarrov Island,
looking not the least bit worried about shingles
Despite having suffered from it for over three weeks, I keep forgetting what it's called without the help of my little home-made mnemonic "Shingles on my roof, shingles on my body". Am I suffering from an early onset of dementia as well?
(Yes, I know, they're called tiles, really, but "Tiles on my roof ..." only rhymes with something I haven't got - yet. If I did, I would have trouble sitting down, whereas my shingles only give me trouble lying down.)
To distract myself from all this misery, I've read Tom Neale's "An Island to Oneself" again - and so can you by clicking here. On re-reading it online, I noticed that it has quite a few typos in it which are not of my own making as I copied the text of the book from somewhere else on the internet.
I simply couldn't be bothered fixing them as I'm suffering too much from ... ahem, "Shingles on my roof ..."
