Saturday, 20 December 2014

A Lurgy Lament

Christmas is almost upon us.  Everybody wants the day to be perfect.  In our quest for perfection, we plot, plan, scheme (if necessary) and manipulate (no? You’ve never manipulated? What’s wrong with you!) to get everybody in the right place, at the right time for this perfect moment.
          It is Sod’s Law you will come down with the lurgy twenty-four hours’ beforehand.  If not you, then your kids.  Or your husband.  Or, if none of these, the person who was due to roast the turkey develops a temperature that roasts them instead.  And this lurgy-fest comes about by being sneezed upon by other lurgy-infested souls.  The lurgy is everywhere.  On the bus.  The train.  In the queue at WH Smith.  And especially the supermarket.
          Last week I saw a female shopper –without a word of a lie – lean against the fish freezer as she coughed for England.  She then pulled an overworked tissue out of her pocket, and trumpeted into it until it was a soggy mess.  But the real ewww factor was watching her open the fish cabinet with snotty fingers.  And it didn’t stop there.  She then touched several food boxes as she ummed and ahhed whether to have haddock, cod, plaice or pollock.  So when the next unsuspecting shopper came along and grabbed a box of Captain Birds Eye, it would be pretty much a foregone conclusion that the consumer would be dining on fish fingers, chips and a big fat virus infection.  Some people’s cluelessness at how not to spread germs is mind-boggling.  Either they are very naïve, or don’t give a stuff.
          I’ve been very smug about staying virus free.  Indeed, my entire family are currently all wonderfully fit.  However, the Law of Sod was lurking and decided that instead of the family and me getting poorly, it would be the dog instead.
          My poor darling pooch.  One minute she was enjoying walkies, swiping toast and barking at the postman, the next she was lying on the floor with all four paws in the air. She was so bad, we didn’t just think it was the Law of Sod who’d come calling, we also worried it might be the Grim Reaper.  The emergency vet was baffled and decided to treat her for a severe arthritis attack.  My sister – an ace kinesiologist – treated her for a nasty bacterial infection.  Within hours our pooch was responding and seems to have thankfully turned the corner.  It will be a little while before she’s back to swiping toast and hassling the postman, but the main thing is, she will be with us for Christmas.
          So whether you’re gargling with TCP, popping Paracetamol, prostrate on the sofa with lurgy, coughing until your eyeballs stream, or nursing a poorly pet, let’s all agree that it’s not going to stop us having a great Christmas.  And the Law of Sod can chuff off because Christmas is what we make it!  So I wish everybody a very Merry Christmas.  Oh, and could you pass me that box of tissues?  I think I have a sniffle.
          Which reminds me. What do you get if you cross a comedian with a germ?  A sick joke…

No comments:

Post a Comment