I May Never Feel Well Again

Sunday evening. Three days of spasmodic coughing and retching, a slight temperature, waking up at two in the morning, and unable to leave the house for sixty hours. And no sign of it easing. I can only drink hot water and eat potatoes and some cheese. The bits of fish I bought on Friday when, like an idiot, I thought I was going to be feeling healthy, those are now expired. I have to go to the supermarket tomorrow as I'm about to run out of Lemsip and paracetamol. There's a small window between about half past ten and midday when I can do that, and then it all goes away. This happens to me twice a year at least, sometime three. I don't know if my immune system is under-performing because I train and wake up at silly hours, but I take vitamins and eat right, so I doubt it. It's because I travel on trains with people who have military-grade viruses from Poland or Russia or Romania. But if I traveled on the other trains I'd be jammed between people with children who bring back viruses from school that are unknown to medical science. I could blame the awful air conditioning at the office, or the really cold weather we've been having, but I've been through cold weather before and not got these four-five day cough+cold+fever. I try to go to sleep in the evening and can't drop off because I haven't been active enough during the day. Nobody else gets colds like these at work, but Sis does, so maybe the vulnerability is genetic, but the rest of the world strides through other people's viruses and cold weather and rain and exercise and doesn't so much as sneeze. Don't even try to comfort me. I may never feel well again.

One of the most beautiful pieces of television is the first thirty or so minutes of Kenneth Clarke's Civilisation where he visits the remote islands of Celtic Christianity. That's how bad it is: I watched the first three episodes, which are amongst my favourite pieces of television ever. Now I'm going to let about half and hour pass and try to sleep. I'll be working from home tomorrow but really I'll be sleeping or dozing or coughing.