There's no escape...

Oh hiss, spit, pooh, wobbly bottoms and other rude words of choice.

I thought I was managing to evade the dreaded seasonal bugs really well, given that:

1. lovely hubby was off for a few days with a really grotty bug, and is still up at night coughing like heck
2. my colleague (who sits next to me) has been off for almost a week (with something snotty, feverish and similar)
3. any journeys on public transport at the moment sound like a day's outing for the consumptive society, echoing to the jolly sound of coughs, sneezes and nose-blowing

Unfortunately, and despite trying the usual manic hand-washing, scarf over face ploy and trying a 'cold defence' nasal spray (a.k.a. 'a bit of a con'), the damned thing has found me.

Felt OK (well, mostly) up until last night, although there were signs that something was going on - a fetching set of cold sores, mostly. Immune system's fighting the good fight, but not entirely on the winning team, eh?

But... those little men with hammers set up in my head overnight, and then joined forces this morning with the chappies who sandpaper throat linings for a living. The crew responsible for turning a fat lass into a human waterfall turned up late this morning so it's a case of Kleenex 'r us at the moment. Dontcha just love the 'Rudolf' effect of constant tissue use? Ever so Christmassy, it is. Bah! Humbug!

The silver lining (and believe me, I've really had to hunt for this) is that nothing, nope, not even my beloved chipotle chillies, tastes right through the lovely coating on my tongue, so my interest in comestibles is nearing zero. Yeah, yeah, I know all that baloney about 'feeding a cold', and I'm not starving myself, but overindulgence on seasonal treats holds no appeal right now. Ah well, I guess it helps out with maintenance.

Onwards and...