We need to talk about health. Mine. Because its important. And having just survived a possibly near-fatal dose of man-cold, I feel qualified to relate useful information, dispel some popular myths and tell you of my heroic struggle against this horrendous disease. The ISIS of the nasal passages.

Monday night I have a sore throat. Not pleasant, not the end of the world. By Tuesday night it was the end of the world (as we know it) and was accompanied by bunged up snottiness of the highest order. The entire house was knee-deep in discarded tissues.

In the paper that morning, as I post-nasally dripped my way through my morning rituals, was a warning that if doctors see people with sore throats, take it very seriously as IT MAY BE SEPSIS!!! Holy shit, I’ve got sepsis, and I have no idea what it even is. I just thought I had ebola or something trivial like that (well, I’m a man, its what we do; we extrapolate). Ah, no, with sepsis, I learn, you can’t pee. And in our nightly wee-wee competition (Mel & I are always very competitive), I was 7-nil up by 2am. Phew, not sepsis. Not sleep either. Too much running nose to sleep. Even though I was exhausted.

We have drugs. For, quite literally, every ailment known anywhere in the world. Mel collects them. So going to the ‘man-cold cupboard’ she found some worthy things. Decongestants, dryer-upperers, anti-virals, and I duly took them all. Everything I could find. Overdosing is for wimps. I need to work, I need loads of meds.

I mean, I was ILL. Really ILL. So ill I cancelled bridge on Tuesday. I mean, bridge? Failing a fitness test for a game typified by Care Home dwellers, and I just couldn’t find the energy.

Yesterday was awful. I’d taken my meds, all fucking day and all fucking night, but nothing happened. After my second sleepless, nose-runny, coughing night, I felt like shit. And then had a really busy day at work. So I cancelled Tai Chi last night. Which made me officially a ‘tossa!’ which is in fact way better than I felt.

Desperate measures were needed. All the products of modern-day pharmacology couldn’t help me one little bit. Ok, I thought, let’s do what the ancient Scots would do. And I poured myself a rather large ‘dose’ of a very nice, slightly smoky, single malt whisky.

I slept like a baby. Alright wetting the bed’s not really acceptable at my age, I realise that, but otherwise I slept like a baby. No snot, no bunged-uppiness, no coughing. And this morning, though not 100%, I don’t feel that horrible weariness and muzzy-headiness any longer.

So next time you’re ill, don’t go to the doctors, nor the fucking hospitals, they’re all a waste of time. Go to the pub. You’ll get better. Trust me.

Happy Friday

A xxxx