I've got a cold, okay? By now, just nine words in, half the female readers of this blog will be sniggering behind their virtual hands, muttering 'man flu.' (I know who you are. Thanks to Google Snickertrak™ technology, I have your IP addresses. This won't be forgotten.)
Well, those of you thus sniggering are wrong. I don't think I've got flu. I've had that, and I know it's much more debilitating. With nothing more than a couple of paracetamols I've been able to do the school run - if it had been flu, I would still be in bed, groaning. (Be careful. Snickertrak™ is still operating.)
However, I think this idea that men can't cope with the most trivial of illnesses overlooks the fact that a cold is not very nice. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton wool, I've a sore throat and my nose is dripping so much that had I been give a hose attachment during the night, I could have substituted for a fire engine.
So, yes, it's not flu. It's not fatal. It's not even more than mildly irritating. But it's not pleasant, so a bit of sympathy is not too much to ask.