Some blame the male chromosome for many of the world’s ills – wars, flood, famine, pestilence. Whilst overlooking that most pernicious of woes to beset roughly half the human race. Man flu. Surprisingly for such a virulent, debilitating illness it’s a remarkably poorly understood condition. But suppose that’s no different to the Great Plague that struck London in seventeenth century. The mistaken notion that killing stray cats and dogs would curtail the spread of the rat borne disease merely exacerbated the situation.
Admittedly I’d not contracted bubonic plague, but I’d an undeniably strong bout of man flu. For such a prevalent illness I was a bit surprised my pocket medical book had inadvertently omitted any reference to it. But all the familiar symptoms were there. Even found a website to help confirm the diagnosis. Endless self-pity, lethargy. Barely the strength to operate a TV remote control. If I’d had one. And a bit of a sniffle. Consoled myself with the knowledge that at least my Will was in order.
What had surprised me was that I might succumb to such a condition in the Gobi. Suppose I should have known better, a desert’s sole defining feature being precious little rainfall. Everything else, intense heat in the day, bitterly cold nights, sandstorms, violent electrical storms. All are possible. But no sign of dusky, veil clad maidens bearing gifts of Turkish Delight.
[With thanks to the creators of www.manflu.org.uk]
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