This post first appeared in Regrow Qld in July 2022
Folks, if I’d woken up last Saturday morning with a walrus flipper slapping my forehead I could not have been more surprised.
I was sick!
Little old mask wearing, hand sanitising me?!
Ok, before you rush out to send off a care package, let me reassure you it wasn’t Covid.
It was something far worse:
The Dreaded Man Flu!
(Pause for dramatic music: Da! Daa! Daaaa!)
Go ahead and snigger, but it’s a ‘thing’ I tells ya, and it’s bad. Real bad. But I struggled gamely through. Of course, a lesser man would have been in hospital by now.
NOTE: it turned out to be laryngitis, so I couldn’t speak for a few days (to the delight of thousands).
Anyway, I notified everyone that my normal weekend services had been cancelled instantly as I was self-isolating.
I felt better almost immediately!
Fortunately, thanks to the many hard lessons of Covid, I’d stocked up an emergency stash of small goods, dry foods, toilet paper and DVD’s.
I wish I’d been so vigilant about my medicine supplies as I was out of anything that would slow the flow pouring out of my nostrils; apart from the t-shirt I’d wrapped around my face.
Fortunately, my youngest daughter came to the rescue and, later that morning, lofted a small bottle of unfamiliar medicine through my upper window.
It seems the stuff I normally use was not available at any of the chemist shops she had trudged through that day. It appears I wasn’t the only one suffering.
This was confirmed by the war stories I saw online. It seems, sick people are dragging themselves to work, shopping, parties, sporting events, well, basically, everywhere, with severe cold and flu symptoms.
One candidate for ‘Dropkick of the Year’ appeared at their workplace the morning after spending the previous night frantically alternating their position over the toilet bowl, no doubt to the delight of their colleagues who are now giving their porcelain throne’s some not-so-solid workouts too.
Another daughter (I have a few… just in case) hit the tiles on Saturday night with over 500 other people to what we would have called a Super Spreader Event not so long ago. Three days later, six of her friends tested positive to Madame Rona’s invisible curse.
Apparently we’ve learned absolutely nothing in the past two years about how to prevent preventable viruses from spreading. Clearly ‘personal responsibility’ is not working as a virus control method either.
Just like it doesn’t work for speeding, drink driving, tax evasion, theft, drug use or appointing yourself a cushy, well paid, little job in New York after leaving politics.
So, from now on you’ll just have to assume that anyone sitting next to you on a flight, cruise, or at a birthday party is riddled with ‘Rona and take preventative measure i.e.: like masking up and tipping a bucket of hand sanitiser over anyone without a mask who coughs within 10 feet of you.
Honestly, who’d have thought ‘letting it rip’ would turn out like this?
And the few who thought otherwise needs a solid slap up the side of the head with a walrus flipper!