The pox …
If you ever need proof that, despite the trappings of civilisation we’re still just a bunch of largely defenceless descendants of monkeys, you only need look at the influenza virus. It circulates around the globe targetting those communities in winter and whose occupants defences will be at their seasonal low ebb. It can transfer from ‘animal’ to human, it can mutate, it can be transferred by the air but is happy to jump ship on saliva, snot, shit and blood too. The Spanish flu virus which struck just as the armistice was signed at the end of the first world war is estimated to have killed at least 20 million people and possibly as many as 100 million. Truly an amazing virus – and one that is highly likely to outlast mankind’s tenure.
I’ve had proper flu just once and I sure as shit won’t be unhappy if I never get it again. Over here in Oz everyone (not just the elderly) is recommended to get a flu jab – the posters go up just as the kids return to school for the autumn term. But the incidences of flu are few and far between. You hear people in the queue at the bank saying they’ve just got over the flu but at worst they probably had a bad cold. I don’t know why people feel the need to exagerate in those circumstances. I’d also like to go on the record as saying that I’m not one of those soft bastards who gets man flu. I’ve no idea why blokes feel the need to ham it up when they’ve got the sniffles, but it sure goes on. The absolute worst offender in the world for that is the FIL – he could audition for RADA when he’s feeling under the weather. Grumpy wanker that he is normally, he turns into an absolute cunt when he’s got a cold.
Anyway – our small household has had its first round of winter bugs – a head cold. My dad caught it first and I caught it from him. All last week I had it, then Liz and Jack got it at the same time. Jack’s immune system seems to be handling it better than Liz’s, though we’ve given the sprog the day off school today because he’s got those dark rings round the eyes that kids get. That said, the missus is suffering badly too, thanks to wisdom teeth that are so impacted they’re growing sideways into otherwise healthy molars – combine the pain of bones growing into your jaw and a throbbing head cold and you can see why she’s not feeling too clever.
The timing of the bug was, of course, perfect as today is the missus’ birthday. We were all due to go out for an evening meal at the Thai Riverside, but that’s been put on hold until everyone’s feeling better. For the first time in many years all her family managed to remember her birthday. The worst offender, her sister, even sent her over a very nice skirt and top from Monsoon (the missus favourite and much-missed shop). My present to the missus this year is another cat. Because they won’t be ready for another month, I told Liz early and we went up to the vets a couple of days ago so she could pick a kitten from the litter of four. The kitten (named Simon) will join our dog Kali and our cat Mukka. They’re all rescue animals.
We insure all our pets because we got caught out once with a humungous vets bill in the UK. They have a slightly different attitude over here because, let’s be honest, Australia is not a nation of animal lovers. I asked one of my customers, who I’d been chatting to about pets, if he had pet insurance and he said, “Fuck no! When he gets too crook I’ll take ‘im out the back shoot ‘im.” Nice!
Giving blood-sucking leeches a bad name …
Speaking of putting down lame animals, an amazing story reaches us from the England, relayed to us by the wife’s sister. The SIL’s partner owns a car dealership and he’s been using the FIL for valeting and car delivery jobs. The FIL prefers to keep the arrangement off the books in case he should attract any undesired attention from Ye Olde Taxeman and he is therefore paid in petrol. Every month the FIL submits his hours and gets an equivalent amount of go-go juice in return. Anyway, couple of weeks ago the SIL asked the FIL if he’d come over and help her erect a trampoline for the use thereby of his grandchildren. No problem, he says, and spends an hour or so helping to put it up. Everyone thinks what a kindly grandparent he is, right up until he adds the hours he spent putting the trampoline up, to his latest invoice! Tighter than a nun’s cunt.
