Bad news, good news.

I was diagnosed with costochondritis this weekend. No, not the Greek ex-Bolton Wanderers midfielder, an inflammation of the cartilage in my rib cage. It’s uncomfortable and generally not very pleasant, but when you are “middle-aged” and less fit than perhaps you should be, a diagnosis of costochondritis when you have chest pains and shortness of breath is actually fantastic news.

My heart will – as the bloody awful song goes – go on. In fact, my ECG was described as “perfect” by the doc. Boom! (bang a bang).

Anyway, some anti-inflammatories and an absence of foolish behaviour, and I should be fine real soon now.

If you google costochondritis, you get a lot of other suggestions just four letters in. I thought I might share some of them.

Cost of living – too damn high. Pick n Pay tried to charge me R115 for 850g of cheddar today. Ridiculous.

Costa Coffee – ubiquitous chain of coffee stores across the UK and the rest of the world (not South Africa) (yet).

Costocervical trunk – blood vessel behind the artery that is underneath your collar bone. Nothing to do with trees.

Costa, Diego – feisty, divisive footballer plying his trade up front for Spanish team Club Atlético de Madrid, SAD. You either really love him or really hate him. Or somewhere in between.

Costa del Sol – bit of Spanish Mediterranean coastline in Andalusia famed as being a hideout for British underworld figures from the 1960s onwards.

Costatu – an incorrectly spelled version of Cosatu – the Congress of South African Trade Unions. An increasingly irrelevant pseudopolitical entity claiming to represent the workers of South Africa – as long as they aren’t in one of the other Union bodies, in which case, not interested.

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