Eyes Hurt, Skin Hurts, Tongue to Big for Mouth

The moment I realised I was about to come down with some kind of plague wasn't when my sister-in-law lost her voice over Christmas, it wasn't when father became more woolly minded than usual around two weeks later, it wasn't even when mother virtually hacked up and lung whilst we were catching up with the exploits of Sherlock...no, the moment I realised my future was the joys of every piece of food tasting like cardboard, a continuous swarm of mosquitoes in my head, both shivering and sweating at the same time and the mucus...for the love of God, the mucus...yes that moment was when the various folk sharing the same carriage as I last week seemed intent on superfluously spreading every infected molecule across the train in a world where obviously the humble tissue had never been invented.  Why use such devices when you can sneeze spittle half the length of the carriage, cough phlegm onto the back of the seat in front or even wipe mucus onto seat coverings...obviously more absorbent than a man size Kleenex...and then touch the 'open door' button the stop before mine.  And so I shall wrap myself in my duvet as my nose turns a lovely shade of raw red and my lungs test whether a cough or sneeze works as well as regular breathing techniques....And I may or may not watch my entire collection of Harry Potter films in a hallucinogenic haze.