The Common Cold verses Manflu

At the moment I'm a bit ill. I've got a bit of a cold and a headache...nothing major. Well, actually, it's a pain in the arse for 2 reasons. #1. I'm off on holiday next week, so the last thing I need is to get ill and spend a week in the sun with nowhere to stuff my Kleenex because I'll be in the desert, and therefore wearing sleeveless garments. #2. During an end of sixth form holiday to Salou in Spain with some friends, ( the Blackpool of the Spanish coast ), a combination of lack of sleep, possible heatstroke and 5 days of constant drinking, I was ill, and it's caused serious problems every time I've had a cold since.

I actually needed a doctor ( who of course wouldn't check my E111, and insisted on " Euros, senorita!". He gave me a prescription for something, which made me trip out and spiked my fever at over 100. I can remember lying on my bed in the hotel, sweating from every pore, hair sticking to my glistening brow, eyes rolling like a maniac in a freak show, and being completely unable to move for what seemed like hours. You know what it's like during a serious fever...you want to sleep, but can't breathe, there's snot blocking every passage, and every time you inhale you sound like you're providing the sound effects for a really bad 1950s B movie about Alien invasion: " srggghhhhhnnghhhhh, burbsghhhhhsrghhnnnnn!".

Anyway, after getting home, ( which nearly didn't happen as the security in the airport thought my nasal inhaler contained some kind of explosive devise...though it only took one look at my bloodshot eyes and profound sweating to make them realise I was telling the truth, and was incapable of hijacking a pack of Pringles, let alone a plane. ) I collapsed into a deeply troubled sleep...troubled by the fact that my temperature once again soared and hit 104, which made the next few days really interesting, including more sweating, vomiting, and brief periods of hallucinations.

I was luckily being taken care of by my mother, who used ancient Welsh tribal remedies to cure and soothe me. These include hot infusions of fruits of the rain-forest ( Robinson's squash by the bucket load), nutritious yet light food to boost my strength ( toast and Marmite at least 15 times a day), and a secret blend of herbs and plants in paste form to stave off further infection ( paracetamol every 4 hours, and 6 tubs of Vick's vapour rub stuffed up my nose). Ahhh... isn't holistic medicine a wonder?

Anyway, my point is that I didn't really make much of a fuss about my poor health, and realised that I never really have. Being British, I am naturally inclined to complain. Being Welsh ( and female) this desire is even stronger. We moan about everything, usually starting with the weather ( Wales is generally wet) and working our way up. Only today I have moaned about the following:
my job
lack of things to do at work
too many things to do at work
being hungry
feeling full
being broke
my parents ( a frequent subject)
living at home
and the horrendous trip to the camping shop I'm going to have to go through this evening.

But health wasn't one of the topics, even though it is the only genuine gripe I have. I know that list sounds like a lot, but be honest..think back today over all the things you've complained about. I bet it was more than you thought? See! I'm right. Anyway, back to the matter in hand....
My health has suffered since that holiday, and the 3 years in university that followed didn't help much either. I had frequent chest infections, and mixed with freshers flu gave me a cold that lasted so long I was practically on first name terms with every chemist within a 5 mile radius. I swear chicken soup sales doubled in the North West due to continuing recuperations. I usually use being ill as an excuse to kick back, eat better, relax, and get some peace and quiet. But I don't bitch about it. If anything I downplay anything serious - partly because sickness usually causes me to loose half a stone at a time ( not a very good idea, but hey!) but mainly because I don't see the point of making a big deal of it.

HOWEVER! Whenever any male relation, friend, acquaintance or boyfriend has been ill, it's a totally different story. You'd think we were suffering from frequent outbreaks of plague the way they carry on. I've known boyfriends to have a WEEK off work, sitting and doing nothing except sniffing and coughing feebly, expecting me to pick up tissues and cook nourishing soups - and all they have is a sore throat. I've known friends to claim Flu like symptoms, and call off any kind of commitment, ( but the same have an almost miracle like recovery when the football comes on). My own father always gets extremely serious, demands utter silence whilst wrapping himself in a ball of blankets and feebly calling for tea and toast ( " With Marmite...and some cheese!").

Brave protectors and providers my arse. Whether men have always been like this over getting the sniffles, or it's a recent occurrence that came in with the new sensitive modern bloke phenomenon is a mystery. However, I have a practical solution if anyone is interested in curing it. Next time the darling other-half starts looking pathetic and begging for help/tissues/a back rub, suggest the latest treatment you read about in Cosmo - acupuncture in the penis over a course of 6 weeks or something similar - that is guaranteed to provide protection for life against flu germs, then get your sewing kit out and offer to do a mini session with a darning needle. If he is genuinely ill, his temperature should combine with the fright to cause his fever to peak, and therefore he'll recover a lot quicker. If not, he'll probably scream and faint, whereby you can enjoy a few hours peace watching whatever you like on TV.
Good luck ladies!