Where the hell did that come from?
Yesterday evening, around about suppertime (gammon, for those of you who are interested in meat), I began to feel a little off sorts. Not queasy exactly, but my skin started to tingle in that way it does when you have the flu. I didn't have a headache, but it was unpleasant all the same.
By the time the lack of anything decent on the telly had driven me to bed, my head was beginning to throb and my hips felt like I'd stolen them from an octogenarian. I took a couple of neurofen and tried to get to sleep.
Over the course of the night, things have got(ten) worse. My skin is crawling, my stomach churning, I'm alternately sweating like an Egyptian palliasse bearer and shivering like an Eskimo who's forgotten his seal-blubber underpants. Oh, and there's a heavy metal convention going on in my head.
When the alarm went off this morning it was all I could manage to crawl to the bathroom, take some more drugs, have a pee (that shouldn't hurt, should it?) and crawl back into bed. It's midday now and I'm beginning to feel a bit better, but not much.
Now what I want to know is where the hell did this come from? By my reckoning, you have to interact with people to get a cold or the flu. More especially, such diseases are generally transmitted by touch. With the exception of Barbara, I've not touched anyone all week (and I don't mean that in a smutty way, John, so stop sniggering). I've spoken to some people on the phone, and my neighbours across the fence, but mostly I've been my normal reclusive self. So how do I come down with the sort of twenty-four hour bug more commonly associated with schools and colleges (and winter)?
It's a mystery to me, but my brain's so thick at the moment I can't even contemplate the continuing adventures of Detective Inspector Anthony McLean. So I'm going to curl up on the sofa with a dachshund, a mug of lemsip and the latest Harry Potter.
By the time the lack of anything decent on the telly had driven me to bed, my head was beginning to throb and my hips felt like I'd stolen them from an octogenarian. I took a couple of neurofen and tried to get to sleep.
Over the course of the night, things have got(ten) worse. My skin is crawling, my stomach churning, I'm alternately sweating like an Egyptian palliasse bearer and shivering like an Eskimo who's forgotten his seal-blubber underpants. Oh, and there's a heavy metal convention going on in my head.
When the alarm went off this morning it was all I could manage to crawl to the bathroom, take some more drugs, have a pee (that shouldn't hurt, should it?) and crawl back into bed. It's midday now and I'm beginning to feel a bit better, but not much.
Now what I want to know is where the hell did this come from? By my reckoning, you have to interact with people to get a cold or the flu. More especially, such diseases are generally transmitted by touch. With the exception of Barbara, I've not touched anyone all week (and I don't mean that in a smutty way, John, so stop sniggering). I've spoken to some people on the phone, and my neighbours across the fence, but mostly I've been my normal reclusive self. So how do I come down with the sort of twenty-four hour bug more commonly associated with schools and colleges (and winter)?
It's a mystery to me, but my brain's so thick at the moment I can't even contemplate the continuing adventures of Detective Inspector Anthony McLean. So I'm going to curl up on the sofa with a dachshund, a mug of lemsip and the latest Harry Potter.
Comments
I hope you feel better soon. Chicken soup and *HUGZ*
Actually I'm feeling much better now, but no-one around here's been unwell and I haven't even seen anyone who's not from around here in over a week. And airborne viruses don't have much of a chance in the big open outdoors.
I'd say it could have been something I ate, but the digestive system's just fine. I had a few midge bites that evening, but that's only odd in that usually it's a few hundred.
So the mystery remains.