I have one. It's not a massive stonker, but it's the first I've succumbed to since leaving Hong Kong. For months I smugly congratulated myself on having been without sniffles, shakes, coughs and sneezes for so long, and I attributed what was perhaps the longest interval in my life between rhinoviral invasions down to two things: lots of garlic and good beer. Thus, I have reasoned that to have caught this particular cold can only be because one thing alone – I now work in a school again.
Schools are notorious repositories of nasty bugs. It's not that children are unclean, or that these places are unhygienic in themselves, rather that contagions thrive in an atmosphere endemic to the sort of place where young bodies' internal defences are immature. It's just easier for kids to get ill. And then they pass it on. Never mind doctors; teachers are front-line troops!
No one loves a cold. It's not that it kills you, but the wearying 5-days coming, 5-days staying and 5-days leaving means there's oh so much misery to go round, no matter how plump the pillows, how hot the lemon tea and how much head-rest is obtained. Food loses some of its flavour, energy disappears and life is conducted never very far from a tissue box.
Man colds are obviously worse than the other sort. There's no getting away from the fact that one gender suffers worse than the other, but statistical evidence actually points to women calling in sick twice as much as their male counterparts on account of flu. Of course, quoting that old survey to a sick female partner/wife/girlfriend is to court severe disapprobation, not to say a full blast of disease-laden venom.
So tonight I will try to rebalance the chakras with a dog walk to the pub and a pint or two of a local anti-cold recipe concoction (read 10°Staropramen). I will no doubt spread my mutated virus through the very air I exhale and infect some innocent soul out from the office or home for a few hours. Poor bugger!
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