Pounding head. Tight chest. Aching limbs. Sore throat. Bunged up nose. I thought I had avoided this winter's bout of lurgy. Both my nieces were full of it over Christmas, my wife brought it back home with us for New Year and now it's my turn.
I feel as rough as anything and have been in bed with nothing more than a high temperature and the odd shot of Night Nurse for two days now.
My trip up to the Midlands for the Wolves v Cambridge United game is now in jeopardy. This could be, to date, the greatest risk to the whole venture. You may recall that I almost missed a trip to Dartford in an early qualifying round when my wife badly damaged her ankle. I made that journey, laden with guilt.
Tonight I will need a good, restful sleep. And a miraculous recovery. If I do make the trip, it won't be guilt I'll be full of but something far less pleasant.
My "Road to Wembley" could all end, here and now, amongst a flurry of tissues.