I have been struck down with a horrible flu. I must have sneezed around 700 times during the last two days. I dread to think how many brain-cells I have killed. All around the house there are bins filled with tissues. My head hurts, my body hurts, my nose is as red as a traffic light (not a good look) and I feel miserable.
I once killed a cold in its early stages by drinking a bottle of red wine and then taking to my bed. As a cure it beats Lemsip and garlic cloves. One theory is that alcohol dries you up, so at least your nose stops running. Despite my efforts over the last two nights to drink as much red wine as I can the cold is still here, lingering and victorious. I hate it.
I have just sent off the proposal for my next book which is all about happiness. One of the theories I put forward is that we should count our blessings when we’re not ill and be jolly happy to be healthy.
Well, I will certainly try to follow my own advice, once this damn flu clutters off. You’d think it might have given me Valentine’s Day off. How can I possibly kiss my husband (who is looking after me very well) when I can’t breathe through my nose?
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008