Succumbing to the Covid curse

Two years to the day that Peterborough recorded its first Covid case the dreaded lurgy got me. A not-so-thin red line showed up on my lateral flow test to confirm what I feared after a few days of what in happier times we used to call man flu ( or at least Mrs T did).

D espite being a maskwearing (still) triple vaxed, social distancing type of guy, there proved to be no hiding place from the cluches of Covid.

I t’s not surprising really because despite the glib ‘learning to live with the virus’ mantra foisted upon us by some politicians (who seem to conveniently forget that well over 100,000 Brits failed to live with it and died) Covid-19 is still prevalent and remains a major public health threat.

A s a chronic asthmatic and an over-60 I’ve done my best to avoid it ( as a bonus it was an excuse to indulge my anti-social tendencies!) I’ve worked from home and I’ve bumped elbows.

B ut there was always one chink in my anti-covid armoury and that was my darling little bug factories.

Yes, two primary school age children meant avoiding Covid was bound to be a lottery that I was destined to ‘win’ in the long run.

We had a good run - but just over a week ago my daughter was feeling under the weather and as we knew Covid was rampant in her classroom we feared the worst.

S he did test positive and for a day was quite poorly, but thankfully within a few days was back to her old stroppy ten-ager self.

In the meantime Mrs T succumbed leaving me and iron boy B Dog as the last Thorntons standing.

I felt rotten - and it wasn’t just because my sofa sitting TV watching weekend activities were curtailed by irritating sidetracks like having to feed the kids.

I was sure I had it too, but a test proved negative.

M rs T couldn’t raise herself from her sick bed - although she was able to raise her eyebrows almost to the ceiling when I ventured that I might too becoming down with it and I swear she mouthed ‘man flu’.

B y the next day it was official as both me and B Dog tested positive.

T here the similarities ended –he was bubbling with energy and showing no symptoms but I felt absolutely dreadful - a raging sore throat and what felt like a vice gripping my brain.

I was worried that getting Covid two years on from the first wave wouldn’t elicit the same response as it used to when friends would drop food parcels off at the front door.

For two days I kept checking the doorstep but it was bare. Then the rush started with bags of groceries usually accompanied by a bunch of daffs.

If I’m being picky I’d have preferred a bottle of Malbec to yet another bag of carrots...(We were grateful – Mrs T).

Fortunately, we’ve all made a full recovery although the adult part of the family had cause to reflect how things might have worked without the vaccine.

Presumably, we’ve now got our own antibodies to tackle any future outbreak, but I for one don’t plan to drop my Covid guard – so don’t expect any hugs from me.