Yup, with perfect timing my head has turned into a snot factory, I have a throat like a wino’s chin and a cough that makes things rattle inside. Great fun, especially as I’m off to London for a cocktail party tomorrow – doesn’t it sound awfully swish when you say it like that ‘cocktail party’, as opposed to say, a ‘cocktail funeral’, or a ‘cocktail hysterectomy’ – and expectorating all over the hors d'oeuvres probably won’t be that welcome. At least not if anyone catches me doing it. “Is it just me Delia darling, or do these shrimp canapés taste of phlegm?”
I’m not entirely sure where this cold came from either: was it all the people hacking and sneezing on the plane back from Oslo? Was it all the people sniffing and coughing in the waiting lounge at Heathrow? Or was it the people where I work, bravely soldiering into the office with streaming head colds, because we all know how much more fun life can be if you share your mucus-fuelled infection with everyone else. So today I are been mostly sneezing and dosing myself up with vitamin C, Lemsip and cherry-flavour Strepsils. That and building a shelf for my new printer to sit on (how rock n’ roll is that?) and helping the cat down off the roof. She can get herself up there, but there are only two ways for her to get down: use me as a ladder, or fall off (she’s fallen off once and doesn’t seem too keen to repeat the experience, so clambering down me it is).