Nigel has man flu.
He came home yesterday, made himself a Beechams, blew his nose loudly on some tissues, sneezed, blew again, coughed, made all sorts of loud noises, sat in chair and groaned.
"Got a cold?" says I
"I just feel awful" he replies.
After the umpteenth time of him blowing his nose I am losing the will to live. He is impossible to be around when he is like this.
9pm arrives, peace at last, he goes to bed.
Unfortunately he is still awake when I go up.
Cough cough, he goes weakly.
"Do we have any asprin?" he asks weakly
"Yes in the cupboard" I reply.
he lays there for a while then when he realises I am not going to wait on him he goes trotting downstairs in search of the box of tablets.
I hear him tutting and cursing in the kitchen, banging cupboard doors. Good job the kids sleep like the dead.
He eventually makes a reappearance, telling me he has taken the said tablet and then proceeds to spend the night, tossing, turning, coughing AAAARRRGGGHHH.
This morning is no better though he has (thankfully) gone to work. It isn't that bad then.
I am not uncaring, really I am not.
It is only a cold which he has passed on to me
