Carole is good at a lot of things. Talking, for example, is probably one of her special skills. As is managing, inexplicably, to discover the financial history of anyone she has just met or spent any time with. She’s also good at Ticket To Ride – that can’t be disputed. She is the house’s reigning champion when it comes to train-based board games.
One thing she’s not good at, though, is being ill. Nope, it turns out when my little Petri Dish is ill, she really goes to town with it. Today she’s resembled an ill version of the Dormouse from Alice In Wonderland. Like something really cute mixed with the coughing death rattles of a 90-a-day smoker.
While people mat point fingers at menfolk who suffer with a sniffle, calling it “Man Flu” in a way to belittle the disease – although a large portion of the internet do believe that Man Flu is an actual type of flu you can catch, like swine or bird flu before it – Carole suffers from Carole Flu. Which is much, much worse.
Death is imminent, apparently. It’s something I should be prepared for, I have been told.
And while Death might be there, waiting, with his scythe poised she still finds time to use up valuable strength to complain that the cup of Lemsip I have made her is just a little bit too hot. Even to the end, she’s been a fighter. A very demanding fighter. If she had a little bell she could ring, I’d have probably cut the clapper out of it by now.
Obviously, she’s not actually fading as fast as she claims. She’s just got a bit of a cough.
And an intermittent whistling bogey.
One of which (the cough, preferably) she’s probably passed onto me for later in the week, most probably Saturday when we’re off to the Good Food show in Harrogate, so I can hack up a lung or two over any food samples on offer and infect most of North Yorkshire in a single day. And you won’t hear me complaining. Oh no. I shall just stand strong. I won’t criticise the temperature of my medicinal drinks.
Ok, I might complain a bit as I cough and splutter my way through a Mary Berry masterclass or something, but other than that I’ll be fine.
After all, us menfolk can handle a few germs, can’t we?