Can’t write today as I am suffering from Mum-Flu.
Mum-Flu is the same as normal flu apart from the fact that it is, I believe, not a viral infection but a psychological condition.
It is brought on, almost without exception, as a primitive defence mechanism when your brain registers that you have actually gone ahead and had a whispered conversation with Friend-Kate that included the trigger-words ‘back-pack’, ‘Heathrow’, ‘Tibet’ and ‘sod-the-lot-of-‘em’.
As a last resort, and to prevent you from actually attempting to ‘send-them-all-to-live-with-their-Dads-if-they-don’t-bloody-well-stop-screaming-at-each-other’, your body strikes you down with Mum-Flu.
You can tell that God is a man for the simple reason that in the event that you, as a muvver, ever get an attack of the ‘to-hell-with-it’s’ and seriously consider cranking up the Pointer Sisters on your car stereo, as you gleefully head toward the M25, he debilitates you with this curious condition.
Another interesting facet of Mum-Flu, that differentiates it from the normal strain, is that with Mum-Flu, you are still responsible for meals, school-runs and getting up every five minutes to open the front door for the little bugger’s friends.
Anyway, got to go, the doorbell just rang.