The Memory Malingers On.

I've been on The Regime for five days now. I had had a sort of rusted throat for about three weeks prior to this, which was annoying as I was supposed to be demoing songs, but as soon as I flushed wine from my system it turned into a full blown cold. I never get colds. I don't think I've had one for a good five or six years and I've often wondered whether booze is truly medicinal in this sense. I'm not suggesting there are any real health giving properties in booze - far from it - IT IS A DEADLY AND ADDICTIVE POISON THAT KILLS THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE EVERY YEAR AND DESTROYS THE LIVES OF THOSE AROUND THEM HA HA HA. But I think, perhaps, there might be some truth in the idea in this specific case, at least for my peculiar micro-system.

A poor deluded fool, yesterday

So I've had a cold. Not a particularly bad cold. Sore throat, weeping eyes and nose, coughing and sneezing, a surfeit of phlegm. So much phlegm. I'm going through Kleenex like a teenage boy with internet access and a room of one's own. But its not particularly incapacitating. I can still work. I made a meeting. I'm hitting deadlines. And its getting better so I haven't really got anything to complain about.

I made the foolish mistake of mentioning it on social media though and was immediately accused of malingering. That hurts, mainly because, in the past, there may have been a bit of malingering. The self-pity, love of luxury and petting is strong in this one. I would have made an excellent cat.

So I went out of my way to say the cold was not bad - an inconvenience - and that it wasn't going to stop me. I was master of it. At which I was called a martyr by a female friend. For putting up with a cold, which I would have to do anyway.

You got me.

It's true. Men have never ever been ill and the ones who say they are ill have no real notion of the concept of illness. Real men put up and shut up. They sit there, living skeletons, yellow with malarial sweats, and they wouldn't even ask you to open a window. The very idea of a man claiming to be ill is an invitation to ridicule. And I've not even had a baby so I am numb to all human experience with my bonsai pain receptors. I am unable to understand a woman's pain in all its manifold colours and accents. It is a rainbow fountain of exquisite agonies, a cosmos of shimmering, shivering torments. How we pale, stunted men envy your multiple orgasms and baffling pain management. Women can probably orgasm at the same time as experiencing searing trauma as they have incredible multi-tasking  skills to boot. To be a woman is to be on a roller-coaster of euphoric highs and lows and men can only look on, staring at the "You must be this tough to ride" sign and knowing that we can never qualify.

There's me with my ickle sniffles. Sorry. Wasting your time. I mean I had a coughing fit this morning and tried to stand up too quickly afterwards and fainted. But no. I'm fine.*

Anyway, it seems to be getting better. I mean I've been knocking the Lemsip and Covonea into me and dining on health foods: fish, salads, pulses, kale, fruit. Its not quite been the starvation regime that I was anticipating but I have swerved red meat, processed foods, butter, bread, cheese, pies, sweets, crisps, booze and my particular weaknesses KP Dry Roasted peanuts and M&S Cheese Tasters.

I am constantly starving, of course and, since I swapped booze for chamomile tea, I'm constantly in need of a piss. But am I any healthier? Do I look and feel better?

I'll let you know when I shift this fucking cold.

*There may be some passive aggression here.