The last few days have not been pleasant ones at Stocks Towers where the lurgy has well and truly taken over.
There’s been a lot of it about in recent weeks - I’ve seen no end of normally healthy individuals turned to sneezing, shivering, sniffling wrecks surrounded by used tissues and empty sachets of medicinal lemony drink.
Back in my younger days I would have secretly chuckled at the sickly ones, knowing my iron constitution (broken only once in a decade - by a trip to Pnom Pehn) would see me through.
Sadly that’s no longer the case and for the last 24 hours I’ve been hiding under a duvet on the sofa, dozing through repeats of Quincy and gorging on comfort food.
Munching through endless rounds of toast and piles of biscuits has reminded me of a conversation I had here at Gazette Towers earlier in the week, in which a colleague announced they were ‘changing their relationship with food’.
Now, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a relationship with food - generally it’s not around long enough for that kind of business - but I certainly couldn’t get used to treating it as simply fuel for the body.
If that were the case, what on earth would be the point of tastebuds?
Food (with the exception of asparagus and sprouts) is a treat, an experience - something to look forward to, to savour.
I’m happy for it to carry on being an indulgence.
Take that ultimate comfort food - a piping hot bowl of soup and crusty bread, fresh from the oven.
When it’s pouring with rain outside, when you’ve been overcome by man flu - it gives you the most astonishing lift, a real tonic for the soul.
I’ll be sorting a nice big helping later, but now I’m going back to bed.