Coughin'
Because I'm a man I never get a cold. I get flu. Christ along knows what I'd think I had if I ever got the flu - pnumonia probably, or some strain of flu that has been imported from somewhere foreign, or genetically modified by the Government or something.
Naturally, being of a scientific bent I do not blame my cold on any virus. Rather, it is the result of stopping drinking.
I had, it has to be said, been knocking the sauce a little last week. This was because, frankly, it was tremendous fun. I guess the problem was coming to a sudden stop by going cold turkey on Friday. By Sunday I was sniffling and snorting and had developed the theory that, in cold weather, males need to top up their alcohol like machines need to top up their anti-freeze. And if it's got a robust flavour and goes great with pasta, so much the better.
Naturally I did the decent thing and raided the cupboard for all of the half-used and out-of-date cold medication I could lay my hands on, eventually downing a cocktail of tablets that would keep a peddler in BMWs for a month.
And went off to work. In this I surprised even myself. Firmly of the opinion that the sick, the lame and the short do not belong in the workplace, I detest those who come to work to sneeze into the air con, but in I went. I was, I suppose past the contageous stage and anyway now have my own office to infect. So I slammed the door and ran up the yellow ensign.
Truth be told though I spent most of the day fantasising about staying at home. There's only one way to be sick, and that's in style. One should take to ones bed and burrow beneath at least a duvet and a dozen rugs, all the while grasping a hot water bottle. One should have access to fluids at all times, this means tea, lots of it. One should have soups. one should also have reading material - nothing too taxing so ditch David Copperfield and pick up the Dandy or Beano.
So one spends the day in a sweated fever and emerges thinner, wanner but altogether healthier and ready to drink again.
As it is, I'm beginning to suspect that a side-effect of the pills I've been taking is to supress the urge to drink - God knows what will happen when I finish them, possibly it will result in my chewing the top off of a bottle of chardonay to get at the stuff.
Naturally, being of a scientific bent I do not blame my cold on any virus. Rather, it is the result of stopping drinking.
I had, it has to be said, been knocking the sauce a little last week. This was because, frankly, it was tremendous fun. I guess the problem was coming to a sudden stop by going cold turkey on Friday. By Sunday I was sniffling and snorting and had developed the theory that, in cold weather, males need to top up their alcohol like machines need to top up their anti-freeze. And if it's got a robust flavour and goes great with pasta, so much the better.
Naturally I did the decent thing and raided the cupboard for all of the half-used and out-of-date cold medication I could lay my hands on, eventually downing a cocktail of tablets that would keep a peddler in BMWs for a month.
And went off to work. In this I surprised even myself. Firmly of the opinion that the sick, the lame and the short do not belong in the workplace, I detest those who come to work to sneeze into the air con, but in I went. I was, I suppose past the contageous stage and anyway now have my own office to infect. So I slammed the door and ran up the yellow ensign.
Truth be told though I spent most of the day fantasising about staying at home. There's only one way to be sick, and that's in style. One should take to ones bed and burrow beneath at least a duvet and a dozen rugs, all the while grasping a hot water bottle. One should have access to fluids at all times, this means tea, lots of it. One should have soups. one should also have reading material - nothing too taxing so ditch David Copperfield and pick up the Dandy or Beano.
So one spends the day in a sweated fever and emerges thinner, wanner but altogether healthier and ready to drink again.
As it is, I'm beginning to suspect that a side-effect of the pills I've been taking is to supress the urge to drink - God knows what will happen when I finish them, possibly it will result in my chewing the top off of a bottle of chardonay to get at the stuff.
1 Comments:
I believe what you are referring to is called "withdrawals".
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