Ever been to Prague? Do you want pubes with that?

Have you ever been soooo sick that you were rendered emotionless?

Were you in a foreign country enjoying sub zero temperatures, feeling obliged to get out of your sick bed and explore for hours?

Was the city packed out with obnoxious Italian tourists unable to walk less then 4 abreast even if they were alone?

Were you so ill that you were unable to understand why you could not follow the plot of Sponge Bob in Czechoslovakian?

Were they letting off explosives to celebrate NYE until 6am right under the dog shit filled street by your window?

Did you breathe in 2 packs a day without so much as lighting up?

Did you simultaneously have a menstrual period so wicked that you believed it was trying to compete with your fever for eternal damnation?

Did you have to seek out public toilets every hour, budgeting an extra 20 mins each pit stop in order to deal with 3 pairs of wool stockings and record breaking layers of thermal underwear?

Did this all make you feel so damn feminine that you dropped to your knees to thank the Mother Earth for your vagina at each street corner?

Did you have to go against all your anti-corporate beliefs and set foot in a McDonalds for the first time in almost 10 years just to menstruate there?

Did they make you pay for the pleasure?

Did you find the receipt whilst doing Jeff's tax this week and decide you'd rather blog about it than recoup that 8 cents?

Do you think I can make it all the way to the end of this blog only using irritating questions?

Do you dare me?

Double dog dare me?

As you were tending your femininity in corporate Hell, did you over heat due to your high fever and aggressive central heating?

Did your finally tuck everything in, fight back snot and tears, only to discover that you were locked in the cubicle?

Can you imagine how clean the ladies dunnies in downtown Prague McDonalds might be?

Can you imagine how difficult it was to attract the attention of someone able or willing to help using barely any voice and a foreign language at that?

Can you imagine the joy experienced at eventually having to get down on the dirty pube ridden floor and slide face first through a cat sized gap under the McDoor?

Can you imagine what I might have said as I emerged?

Might you anticipate my reaction when, as I came out dusting myself off, I was asked, "What happened, get locked in?" by Yoga Boy himself?

Do you understand why my feverish, clot addled brain denied me access to 90% of those memories until August?

Do you think I'll be going back to either Prague or McDonalds any time soon?

Do you think it's a crying shame that I wasn't well enough to pop this all on a postcard at the time and post it to you at work without an envelope?

Hands up who thinks I should I fire this off in an email to Lonely Planet?