I had no inkling, when a slight cough greeted my awakening on Friday January 19th, that ten days of influenza and general misery would follow…
I should be in Scotland right now, enjoying the company of friends and sharing the second day adventure of a Ritual Drama/Magic Workshop.
I am not. Having been in bed for most of the past ten days, getting out and about in Glastonbury is currently a bridge too far, never mind anything North of the Border. I am not going to pretend that I feel New Age acceptance, Fluffy Bunny bollocks or that I am floating serenely above it all. I do not, and am not. The bout of illness has coincided with a vast blow from another area – and I am not going to insult any of my readers by adopting a Holier Than Thou/All Part of Life’s Rich Tapestry/There’s a Higher Reason frame of mind.
Never do, do I? Ain’t going to start now!
I feel unwell, though nowhere near as bad as I did on January 19th when the little viral sods starting swarming and multiplying their nasty heads off, or on the 23rd when the shock came shattering and splintering its way in, or the 24th when a big opportunistic bugger grabbed hold of my lungs and decided that a chest infection would be a lovely present for me to receive too.
I have felt like death inadequately warmed up since – and looked pale and wan too: Most unlike me; I have always tended towards the roseate, the bucolic, the rural milkmaid in full bloom look and so the whiteness of cheek has been pretty bloody unusual. Mind you, lack of appetite does not exactly promote a healthy appearance!
Full Monty, it was: The aches and the shakes; the shivering and burning; the incessant coughing; the sweating so profuse that my nightmares propelled me out onto a kind of latter-day Ali’s Ark, afrift in my own sputum and glandular extrusions, desperately searching for dry land! Deeply unpleasant!
Did I have a Flu Jab? Do Popes crap in the woods?! Of course I did. I always do. Made bog-all difference this time round, though I gather that the strain of flu boinging its way over from Climes Antipodean is a particularly vicious one: The metaphorical Plague Rat of the species, ready to bite armpits and groins and spread its buboes far and wide.
So, how did I feel at my worst? Having sped past the relative shallows of ‘rough as a badger’s arse’, sneered mightily at the trifling inconvenience implied by ‘coarse as a porcupine’s nutsack’, I have arrived at a land beyond that covered by animals and similes relating to their privy parts and just feel, or have felt, fucking dire, whilst also (in the infection sense) ducking fire…
That my dry sense of humour is surging back strikes me as a bloody good thing. Tears have been shed at the same rate as the rest of the liquid outpouring in recent days and my bed, more and more reminiscent of a swamp, may well need to be wrung dry by the hydraulic equivalent of a lemon squeezer.
Begone, Flu Virus! You have made your point – and some! Bugger off and annoy someone else, or slink into the Midden of Infectious Diseases which is all you and your egregious type deserve!
Yes, I should be in Scotland – and feel sick as a toucan that I am immured in durance repellent instead.