A bug that’s hard to stomach
Some of my critics may think this column is about as interesting as the back of a fag packet. The similarities are even greater this week as this column comes with a health warning.
I have decided to share my experience of a horrible bout of the dreaded norovirus. I hummed and aahed, but at the risk of being accused by our local MPof writing a column for chavs what follows is my version of Embarrassing Bodies.
Diarrhoea is a horrible word ( and a swine to spell) for a horrible condition and therefore I shall henceforth coyly refer to it as an episode.
The dreaded bug appeared swiftly and violently and as unwanted as that DIY Endoscopy kit Great Aunt Mildred bought me.
Within hours of first feeling a bit under the weather I was confined to my bed enduring fierece bouts of sweats and shivers punctuated by several mad dashes to you know where.
I would wish it on my worst enemy – but not on anyone else.
Fortunately, I was not alone and Mrs T stood back and was counted. She immediately set up an exclusion zone around my sickbed as she transformed into an odd mix of Florence Nightingale and Beverley Allitt.
She takes the “in sickness’’ part of our marriage vows very seriously. If I was being uncharitable ( not like me I know) I would suspect a small part of her likes me weak and defenceless.
In my fevered state as I slipped in and out of a fitful sleep I sometimes woke to find her at the foot of the bed like Kathy Bates in Misery – caring but sinister.
Slowly, I started to improve, the episodes started to become less frequent and I tentatively added dry toast to my water and rehydration tablet diet.
Five days in and I was wondering whether to suggest to Mrs T that she pops down to Ann Summers in Bridge Street to see if they had any “nurses uniforms’’ in the New Year sales. She quickly cooled any stirrings with a line of detailed questioning about my current state of health that would have won her the approval of poo expert Gillian McKeith.
Now the bug has finally released its grasp on me I can start to look on the bright side.
I managed to shed half a stone and talks are already underway for the video – Nigel’s Norovirus Diet... results guar- anteed in days.
The wine rack is looking in much better shape than it normally does at this time of year having been spared its usual New Year battering. Ditto the Christmas boxes of chocolates.
There’s also room on the Sky Planner on the telly in the bedroom. Although I’m not sure how I’m going to explainto Mrs T how the Downton Abbey Christmas special got deleted.
And as a Brucie bonus the bug has been the inspiration for this column meaning me and my critics can finally aggee on something... it’s a load of ****!