Dear Mr/Ms Employer I cannot work today, the scrimtickery in my throat has grinkled its way right through my head - my jaw’s come unhinged, my nose is bumbunctious, my gloot needs syringed. My head will not turn my neck is bracked fast, my old heart is crooming, while my joints are pallast. I couldn’t manage breakfast, my griping dumblon is cursed, couldn’t eat a sausage – I fear the wurst. Harry Gallagher
