After the highlight of seeing Michael Bublé in concert on Monday I’ve been bought back down to earth with a bump.
I suspect one of the up-too-close-and-personal feckers on the train had a cold. Which I now have.
Thank you so much Mr/Mrs/Miss/Ms Inconsiderate Bastard for sharing your germs.
I love the feeling of having a small, but extremely prickly cactus in my throat. It’s a wonderful feeling to be aching all over, with what feels like a tight band around my head and my eyes feeling like they’re trying to burn their way out of their sockets.
I can’t tell you how great it is to sit here with a nose like a dripping tap, a hacking cough that makes me sound like I have a hundred-fags-a-day habit, and such low energy levels, I couldn’t even beat up Winnie the Pooh for the last jar of honey.
I don’t even like honey, but for the sake of my throat, I’m willing to suffer it with plenty of lemon. I’m not overkeen on Winnie the Pooh either and would happily sock him one, the stupid little fecker. Except I don’t have the strength.
Over the phone, I told a friend I’d even resorted to taking Night Nurse the other night after suffering a really crap night’s sleep, and do you know what he said?
“What was her name?”
“Drag your mind out of the gutter you git, I’m not well,” I wailed in reply (mind you, when I typed Night Nurse into Google images, most of the results certainly weren’t medicinal).
“Yeah, you do sound dreadful. Never mind, it’s only a cold.”
Only a cold? Only a feckin’ cold??
Just wait until I hear about him having a cold. Then I’ll tell him all he has is a cold.
Wait a minute.
I’m cranky.
I’m whinging.
I’m feeling poorly.
I’ve been lying on the sofa, unable to muster the energy to do hardly anything, except wheeze, croak, sniff and sneeze.
I’m also feeling very sorry for myself.
It must mean this is not just a cold.
This must mean…
…I have man-flu.
Heh.
Total LOL. Man flu. Love it. Never understood - Ryan could cut off his leg with a chainsaw and still take down the tree, but a bit of a cold, and he becomes a sniveling cry baby. MAN FLU! MAN FLU!
ReplyDeleteHope you get over yours soon!
yep, definitely sounds like man flu.
ReplyDeleteI add whiskey to the lemon and honey - it makes being sick that much more palatable, and it doesn't count if it's medicinal.
Hope you feel better soon
Okay, here's the cure. The Father gave me this cure, admittedly when he was about to locked away in the Nut House, but it does work.
ReplyDelete1: Take the phone off the hook, and disconnect the door bell.
2: Put extra duvets/blankets on the bed.
3: Put on an old jumper, a couple of pair of socks, and whatever you want to cover your legs.
4: Fetch a pint glass.
5: Fill one third with brandy.
6: Top it up with port.
7: No, right to the bloody top.
8: Drink as quickly as possible.
9: All of it.
10: Go to bed.
When you wake up, you'll be cured.
Trust me, I'm a doctor.
Actually, a friend of mine once had the chat-up line: "I'm not a gynacologist, but I'll have a fucking good look!"
Oddly, it worked for him.
Melissa: My husband was always amazed at how quickly I got over a cold in comparison to him; he never just had a cold - it was flu every time!
ReplyDeleteCGL: Ooh, whiskey. Shows how ill I felt, I didn't even think of whiskey!
IG:
1: Phone off hook. Doorbell disconnected a few months ago.
2: Duvet + hot water bottles.
3: Winceyette pyjamas dug out and put on, jumper, socks and dressing gown added.
4, 5, 6 & 7: Sorted.
8 & 9: Sorted.
10: Was already in bed while drinking the pint.
11: Slightly worried I wouldn't wake up.
12: Beyond caring after 8 & 9 hit.
"Trust me I'm a doctor" - I hope that wasn't a typo, and you actually meant to type docker.