Pass the hankies

It’s to be hoped that the last few days have not been a harbinger for the rest of 2013.

Look away now if you’re of a sensitive disposition. For the first time in at least nine years, I’ve had ’flu – or something like it.

For goodness sake – does the Guinness Book of Records have an entry for amounts of livid green snot produced in five minutes flat? If not, they should do. I’d have been a shoe-in.

It seems I don’t do being unwell very well. I expect to be up and around in – what? – oh, a couple of days at the worst. And even that feels rather wet.

The pharmacy on Monday was hardly encouraging on the question of time.

Now obviously I know full well that you don’t – or shouldn’t – get antibiotics for a cold or ’flu, but I didn’t expect to be hear that, “if it’s a cold, it’ll take 10 day; if it’s ’flu, it’ll be 14”.

Eek.

I tried Day Nurse and Night Nurse, and then Sudafed, but nothing seemed to make a blind bit of difference.

The last time that I had ’flu, The Other Half had to go and do the Saturday shopping. That’s why I know that it was at least nine years ago. Because it was before the revival of Broadway Market and he went to Tesco – and subsequently realised just how quickly fruit and vegetables bought in that store went off.

Actually, as I’m rambling around this post, that does raise the issue of food. I’ve had no obvious appetite – although if food is in front of me, I’ll eat it.

A couple of days ago, The Other Half went and got steaks from Henry Tidiman, and then pan-fried them with lashings of garlic, some leeks, a hint of mushroom and some tinned new potatoes, the latter roasted in duck fat.

I’d barely eaten all day, and not felt any sense of missing it, but every last bit of that went down very pleasingly indeed.

But setting aside the food issue, for all sorts of reasons, I have spent much of the last few days working from home.

It’s all well and good saying that I should just have hidden under the duvet, but things have to be done; deadlines have to be met.

The one positive, if there can be such a thing, is that since I'm giving up fags (again) I haven't felt even the slightest temptation to have one – and nor have I felt inclined to snack in lieu of the tobacco. 

Fortunately, the ’flu seems to be on the wane – the most obvious sign is the absence of that green snot. And I can now actually smell the menthol on the tissues I bought way back on Monday.

Never mind flowers – menthol might be the most beautiful smell on Earth!

Then there’s a returning appetite. For lunch, I rustled up a little pasta with a sauce of roasted pepper, tomatoes and chili, mixed with some toasted ground almonds.

Which Otto decided that she wanted to try too. You’re a cat, I pointed out: cats don’t like chili.

Oh.

So just in time for the weekend, I can start to think about food properly again – and, with the temperature dipping, it’ll be time for some hearty cooking.

It’s just a case of crossing fingers now that the lurgy has well and truly disappeared.