Nasty cold has me grounded...

Since returning from Verona last week I've been laid up with a nasty cold and I can't for the life of me figure out where it came from or who might have given it to me. One of the problems with flying, of course, is that you pick things up courtesy of the air con system running through the plane. Who knows what awful diseases my fellow passengers were suffering from? Not me. So I was fine the weekend I got home. Remember I had that extra day courtesy of British Airways messing up and cancelling the flight with no sign of an apology, no compensation, nothing. Well, put it this way, on my next flight (which just so happens to be in a fortnight's time) I won't be flying with BA. No, I'll go with Finnair instead. I've flown with them before and it's a million times better. But more of that trip later perhaps, it's not on the blog radar just yet.

They're good but they won't prevent a cold...

So, Tuesday was when it all started. I got to work okay that morning and then suddenly I was hit with a streaming nose and started sneezing. It continued and intensified and very quickly I reached that awful nasal stage where there's a strong need to want to blow my nose. I haven't had an illness like this since early 2017 (if you exclude COVID in January 2022) and I know this wasn't COVID so I didn't even bother testing. I was still functioning, that's the main thing. Tuesday night I was kind of okay, we had dinner and then I started to feel weary, I kept falling asleep and starting to snore, much to the dismay of my family. But I knew there was something wrong and I nipped out to the convenience store to buy some Lemsip (my go to drug whenever I have a cold). As I said, fortunately, I've not been ill for some time, easily six years, which means I must be doing something right, hopefully that means I eat the right foods and consume enough fruit and vegetables in my diet, even if I have been living on cakes over the past few days prior to returning from Italy. Well, not living on them, but certainly swapping my ultra healthy breakfasts for cake and cappuccino, which is odd when you consider the health benefits of the Mediterranean diet (surely that doesn't include cake and filled croissants?).

I decided it was best that night to sleep the other way around, ie not next to my wife for fear of giving her my cold, but the other way around. If I'm honest with you, whenever I break from the norm in terms of sleeping arrangements I get kind of excited, like when you're a kid and you plan a midnight feast when everybody's gone to bed. I might well have mentioned my strange fantasies of sleeping in different parts of the house, although I've yet to do any strange in-house camping, like hunkering down in a sleeping bag in the conservatory, but I won't go on about this as somewhere I've written a blogpost about it and when I find it I'll put in a link. Here's the link, click here.

Tuesday night after my first Lemsip I slept well but wasn't really looking forward to going to work in the morning. There's something horrible about splashing warm water on my face when my nose is stuffed up or streaming or both (in this case it was a mixture of both). I went to bed with a toilet roll by my side so that I could blow my nose without getting out of bed if I had to, but the Lemsip did the trick and, give or take, I was out like a light. Once I'd showered (the very thought of it horrified me) I felt better but it was false, I was nowhere near better. At work I was kind of fine... well, alright, no I wasn't, I tried to be, but it was a big struggle. If I remember, I sat in Busy Beans sipping a cappuccino having already eaten my peanut butter and banana sandwiches, my Pink Lady apple and my 22 red grapes: that's what I have for lunch on more than one day in the week, it's pretty healthy and it sees me through, but because I was feeling weary and stuffed up there was no way I was going to handle the three-mile walk that I normally do at lunch times (I've been doing them for years) so instead, a cappuccino in Busy Beans sufficed (and was most welcomed). I was so stuffed up I couldn't really focus on reading either so I put aside my copy of Buzzin' by Bez and just sat there looking at my phone, reading old blogs, you name it, anything but actually concentrating on anything. And that's fine because I'd been concentrating all morning reading page proofs on a computer screen. Somehow I forced myself to keep it together on the work front, which was just as well as there were deadlines to meet and I met them.

When I reached home Wednesday night I had dinner (I can't remember what it was) and then I headed for the spare room (which had been occupied the night before, hence me sleeping at the other end of the bed). I hit the sack around 2000hrs, put my radio on and drifted off to sleep. I awoke, of course, at midnight thirty and went downstairs to make myself a Lemsip, this didn't take long and I returned to bed, which was great, it was like a secret camp and I jumped into bed and listened to BBC Radio Three until I realised I needed to switch it off in order to sleep. This I did and I guess I must have had, in total, around seven hours of sleep. I went downstairs, had breakfast, which by now I couldn't taste, and then went upstairs to face the warm shower and the sensation of splashing warm water on my face. Nothing worse when I've got a cold as I explained above.

I'm guessing that these things build up and then start to calm down again, but I wasn't sure at which stage I was at. After showering and dressing I always felt better, but I knew I wasn't and sure enough as the journey to work progressed I found myself still sneezing and blowing my nose and getting a slight headache as a result, just a dull nagging ache which added to the awfulness of my condition. But I got through it and I think I was kind of fit enough to do the three-miler on Thursday lunch time, not that doing so did me any favours. Thursday night and Friday night I hit the sack in the spare room listening to the radio, one curtain drawn back so I could see the night sky outside the window. Hunkering down, for that was what I was doing, hunkering down like a vagrant in the woods, toilet roll at my side for any midnight blowings or wipings (of my nose). 

I followed this routine and I will do it again tonight, for it's now Saturday and it's the first time I actually realised that things had improved. I was weary, there was no way I was capable of riding to Oxted, which had been my plan prior to this cold hitting the shore, so I chilled, took a drive to Hever Castle but didn't fancy paying over £60 just to enter the place. Instead, we ended up in Sevenoaks at Basil and here I realised that things were feeling good, well, not good in the sense that I was 100% better (I wasn't) but good in the sense that I could smell things again (or was starting to). I had a panini, I had a cappuccino and I had a Millionaire's Shortbread and yes, I was beginning to feel human again, but it's not over, it's just starting to subside, the tide was on it's way out but it hadn't got there yet. I reckon one more early night should do it although I don't think I'll ride to Westerham tomorrow, I need the rest.

Going to bed at 2000hrs isn't a bad idea, but there's always that 'waking up past midnight' thing that can be annoying. Just the thought of knowing I've got to try and get back to sleep again, but I've been doing it and I think I need it. Listening to the radio is relaxing as it's not as crap as television and if I can break the habit of falling asleep on the sofa and waking up at gone eleven and then having to go around locking the house up, well, that's got to be a good thing.

So here I sit, in the bedroom (not the one I'm sleeping in) looking out on the houses across the street as the light starts to fade and the street lights come on. In the distance I can see the red lights of high rise cranes, I can see the darkened silhouette of the woods and serene looking skies overhead, there's even the sound of a jet circling Heathrow or making it's final approach. There are no lights on, just the halogen glow of the computer that is sitting on a pine table by the window. Whether people can see me if they walk past I don't know and I don't care. Everything is still.

Tonight the clocks go forward one hour and then it's officially British Summer Time. The blossoms are on the trees too, well, not ours, that always blooms later, say next month, but the fact that the blossoms have arrived, along with the daffodils means only one thing: decent weather ahead and that means more riding of the bike. I won't be there tomorrow and will text Andy shortly on that, but here's to next week.

Sore throat, runny nose...no cycling

Last week I went for a swim and it might have been the reason behind my current state of ill health. Of course, there's no real knowing the real source of my cold, it could have come from anywhere. My mum had a cold last weekend when I went to see her, there are people in the office with colds, so it could have come from anywhere and there's no real point in trying to guess why I'm sitting in here, in pink and white-striped pyjamas, writing this blogpost.

A ride to mum's had been on the cards...

I had been planning an urban ride to mum's today, but on the basis that I knew my sore throat would become a full-blown cold before the week was out (it hit yesterday evening) I looked out of the window at the puddle on next door's conservatory roof and sighed. It wasn't raining, but it had been hammering it down overnight. The skies were grey and there was very little wind, although my California Lilac tree, which still has all of its green leaves, perhaps it's an evergreen, I don't know, was the only thing swaying in whatever breeze was out there.

I'd awoken at 0600hrs out of habit, but I switched the radio off and jumped back into bed. It was gone eight when I jumped out and headed for the kitchen. One thing I hate about having a cold – apart from the streaming nose, the tissues and the smell of Olbas oil – is losing a sense of taste. There's nothing worse than relying upon texture, but there you have it, a cold is a cold and I'll eventually get over it, although sometimes they linger. I wonder where I'll be this time next week? Still bunged up? Still sniffing? Probably, but the streaming nose would have disappeared, it normally does, and I'll be on the mend.

Another iconic poster...

As always, there are things to discuss. Not Donald Trump, although this week he signed a few 'executive orders' to build the wall on the border with Mexico and initiate extreme vetting of people trying to get into the USA from countries like Syria, Iran, Iraq and so on. Needless to say, people aren't happy, but our Prime Minister, Theresa May, was the first international head of state to visit the old tyrant and they seemed to get on swimmingly, both reinforcing the so-called 'special relationship' and Trump was even spotted holding May's hand. That was on last night's 10 o'clock news and then I stayed up to watch Graham Norton who had the cast and director (Danny Boyle) from the new Trainspotting movie, rather pretentiously called T2: Trainspotting. Then I had a Lemsip. Oh yes, I almost forgot. One of the good things about having a cold is Lemsip. I remember back in 2008 when I had a cold and I sat at home drinking Lemsip after Lemsip – used 'as directed' I hasten to add – but I then sat down and wrote the first 6,000 words of my one and only novel, Suki & the Christmas Treasure Trove, which I finished a year later and published (online) in 2012. Happy days, but it didn't make me any money, although that wasn't the point.

Mr President...

But I digress. There are things to discuss. Cotton wool. Or cottonwool? I'm assuming it's 'wool' made out of cotton and, therefore, not wool at all, it's cotton. So why call it cottonwool? One of life's great mysteries I guess. Another thing that's bugging me is the latest food scare – acyrlamide. It bugs me because they've started talking about now, this week, when I remember writing about it in 2007 – 10 years ago! Just don't burn things, make sure your toast is golden brown, not charcoal black, try and avoid potato chips (crisps) and don't over-burn frozen chips. Simple.

It's now 0912hrs, I've just had a second cup of tea, my nose is streaming, I'm still wearing the pink-striped pyjamas and believe it or not the sun is shining. In short, perfect weather for a ride to mum's, but my bike is the garage, padlocked, and it won't be going anywhere until next weekend.

Sore throat – I think I'm going down with something

Dream maker: a sachet of this stuff
before bed makes for a surreal experience.

For the past 12 months I've been stuffing my face – with oranges. Sometimes, I've eaten as many as five big ones while sitting in front of the television or reading a book. As 2010 progressed, I stepped it up a little: I started eating apples and pears and I'd always been partial to the odd banana or two. Actually, where bananas are concerned, I could eat them all day if I'm honest, I love them.

With so much goodness going into the system, you'd think I'd be pretty bomb-proof when it came to run-of-the-mill diseases and, to be fair, I have been; I haven't had a cold – or anything – since the winter of 2008. But now, as I sit here writing this blog, I have a sore throat. It came on last night and its only saving grace is that I feel fine – no headache, I'm not feeling weak, I'm not feeling ill – if that makes sense, although I don't sound good and I'll probably be clearing my throat a lot over the next few days. You know the deal, you bring up a mouthful of phlegm in company and have to rush to the bathroom to get rid of it. Incidentally, what a lovely word, phlegm. I think there should be a punk rock band called the Phlegmingos, perhaps there is one. Hold on a second while I open another window on the computer and check out Google...no, there isn't, although I now wonder whether or not I have a 'phlegmatic personality'. I'd like to think that I'm low-key, easy going and relaxed, but you know what? I don't think I am so I'll stick to the mucus, as indeed would everybody because it's so sticky.

Sitting here with a sore throat, of course, could have been avoided as the best thing to do is keep out of the way of anybody who has flu or a cold or, indeed, a sore throat and that is where I went wrong. While in the New Forest between Christmas and New Year, we stood out like sore thumbs because we didn't have any ailments. The problem, of course, was that everybody else did have something wrong with themselves, be it a sore throat, a cough, a cold or a mixture of all three and while I did say that we'd be lucky to escape without 'going down with something,' I thought we'd escaped it yesterday even if I did say, whenever smugness arose, that we'd have to leave it two days before discovering if we'd escaped. Clearly, two days later, that's not the case!

The worst thing, of course, is the weather. As I sit here in the conservatory looking out on the garden, I notice lovely blue skies with scattered, light grey clouds and a general stillness, which means it's ideal for cycling. To be honest, I feel okay and now, as I write this, I'm thinking, 'perhaps I should go out', but I know that having a sore throat is one good reason not to go out; it is, if you like, my 'get out of jail free' card, not that I view cycling as some kind of penal activity. Indeed, given the choice between having a sore throat and not having one, I'd take the latter option. I guess that going cycling could make things worse, but because there's no medical expert at hand to contradict that view, I'll remain in front of the computer in the warmth.

The problem with this sort of ailment, of course, is that it lingers. It hangs around like a delinquent teenager on a street corner and leads to utterances like, "I can't seem to shake it off." That sort of remark often results in a trip to the doctor and a course of anti-biotics. For me, however, the worst thing about having a cold or a sore throat is losing one's sense of taste. It hasn't happened yet, and I hope it won't, but there's nothing as bad as eating a hearty meal and not being able to taste it. Of course, such a condition does have its advantages: it means you can eat stuff you don't like – tinned sardines and cottage cheese – but what's the point?

Late last night I scored some Lemsip from the local gas station and, on arriving home, I emptied a sachet into a mug and poured hot water on to the yellow powder, transforming it into a warming lemon drink crammed with various drugs guaranteed to allievate the symptoms. I didn't fancy waking up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth, gagging for a glass of water and it worked. I had a good night's sleep, waking at past eight o'clock and coming downstairs to write this blog post. Now, as I gaze again outside, the sky is even bluer than it was a few moments ago, this really is great cycling weather, but again, I'll have to give it a miss.

The Lemsip was excellent, by the way, as it enabled me to have a weird dream that involved, for some reason, throwing cushions at Nick Clegg, who was sitting on one of my sofas, and being present at a showing of the BBC's Question Time on which both Cameron and Clegg were blatantly pretending to hate each other in an effort to prove they were not joined at the hip. There was much more to the dream, but as I write this, I can't recall anymore of it, although I have a strange feeling it involves the sea as most of my dreams tend to.

Right, time to go and spend the last day of the holidays (it's a Bank Holiday today) 'being ill'. This means not going to see my parents – for fear of giving them my sore throat (although I've just discovered my mum already has one – or my mate Alan, whose wife has just given birth to a baby daughter.

Mind you, there are some positive aspects of having a sore throaty sort of ailment: one, I can perfect a gravelly voice; and two, I can develop one of those insincere, television presenter wheezy laughs that will enable me to laugh at jokes that simply aren't funny. There's an upside to everything.