Man-Flu.

There are those who think that bird flu will spell the end of civilisation as we know it. Well, I have something worse - far worse! I have man-flu.
I feel truly AWFUL. You know those bored evenings at home when, for something to do, you empty two tubes of Superglue up your nose and then hit yourself over the head with a hammer while rubbing your throat with sandpaper? Well, that's how I feel.
This potentially killer virus moved in, predictably, last Thursday evening - just before I was due to go to London to spend a long weekend at a friend's. I went down, as arranged, and lasted the whole of Saturday but by Sunday morning I had to raise the white flag and came home at lunchtime. I have been in bed or wrapped in a duvet on the settee ever since.
My soon-to-be ex-wife has gone up north to see her mother - I think there is an SS reunion on or something - and will not be back until next week. As a result, I have no-one to plaintively whimper to or to look up at with cow eyes, pleading for sympathy. Illness is no fun if there's no-one there to witness your pain and say you are being "a brave little soldier" (I'm only 46). I actually used to look forward to being ill when we were married because she would put her nurse's outfit on to tend to me! The tearing up of the marital contract has, sadly, put an end to costume dramas round here - how I miss those romantic evenings when she would dress up as a Japanese admiral and we would re-enact the battle of Midway. I suppose I may try to squeeze into the old nurse's playset myself later on, but it's just not the same. Trying to take you OWN temperature anally requires a mirror, a great deal of patience and a good eye. I don't think I am up to it.
Ho hum. Well, I am at least trying to do something positive. I am growing a beard. By this time next week I should have a completely reversible head. That will be something to look forward to.
In the meantime, man flu can go to Grantham.