Influenza of one kind or another charaterised this week.
The dreaded Bird Flu arrived on these shores proper with a devastating outbreak at the Bernard Matthews turkey farm in Suffolk. Mass slaughter, incineration, DEFRA investigations, questions in The House and much fear and loathing.
Closer to home I've been stricken with a nasty bout of flu of the human kind. This is no weak-tea 'man flu' of mere runny nose and sneezing either. No, it's been truly miserable. A very high temerature with all the usual symptoms -- writ large -- but also with three full days of complete and utter delerium.
Yeah man. Sounds great being totally out of it.
But no. It's been like living through an extended freak-out trip induced by a nasty cocktail of dodgy recreationals. Have a look at thattuneinmyhead. The sheer trippiness of the whole thing is characterised by the fact that Jimi Hendrix's Highway Chile ran on a loop in my head for the first 24 hours. Migrane central and completely insane in the membrane.
I'm sick of Kleenex, Lemsip, Actifed, Strepsils, Vicks, Neurofen and frequent very hot baths. I'm a confirmed OTC junkie and now must find a 12-step programme to address my unwilling addiction to expectorants.
Anyhow, I'm improving now and my employer kindly couriered my laptop to me at home today so I can do something a bit more productive than hucking loogies.
As the charming Mr Matthews might say, "Bootiful."
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