I've got a cold. Bleurgh. In summer. Urgh. It's bad. [Insert rhyming onomatopoeia for feeling GROTTY]. It is utterly ridiculous to have the sniffles in mid-summer, let alone Man Flu. And I most definitely have the latter. I know, I know, technically I'm not allowed to have Man Flu, being of the other species. Still, I think I've put up with enough bouts to justify a case of my own.
Oxford is rubbish for having a cold. If I venture outside to any of my usual comfort spots, I look like I have extreme hayfever. No jogging, no picnics, not even any moping on a graveyard bench trying to look artistic. There is a pharmacy across the road from me, where I'm sure the staff recognise me a mile off just from my sniff. They keep reassuring me there is no miracle cure, but I'm sure it's a conspiracy... The shops are too hot, the streets too full of tourists. England in general is pretty rubbish at dealing with the heat, so there's not even any air con to ease my itching eyes. I feel too self-righteous to inflict my snorting and sniffing on a cinema or theatre full of people, having been annoyed by similar actions myself, and I really don't feel like being cultural and looking round museums or sightseeing when I know I won't appreciate it through streaming eyes, nose and bunged up ears.
Okay, enough of moaning. I guess there's always Youtube...
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