Feeling sick isn’t as much fun as it used to be

Oh, I used to love a wee sniffle when I was a kid. A day off school on the couch (what’s happened to couches, by the way? When did they get rebranded as sofas? Do sofas deliver the same level of protection against Daleks? We should be told).

You and your quilt were brought downstairs. You were arranged on the sofa like a pampered potentate and fed chicken soup and jelly. Not in the same bowl, obviously. Lucozade would be purchased from the chemist, and put on the table next to the patient, having been unwrapped from the crackly cellophane first.

If you had timed it correctly, your brother’s Wizard had arrived so you could catch up with Alf Tupper, Tough of The Track. Failing that, you could watch TV. Well, you could, but there was nothing on during daylight hours apart from a slightly dozy looking gal trying to play noughts and crosses with a balloon. My dad told me the balloon deflated as the day went on. I believed him. Let me tell you, staring at the test card for three hours non-stop opens up strange doors in the pre-teen mind when weakened by a cold.

But now I am grown. There are meetings to attend, buses to catch, shopping to do, carpets to hoover, laundry to iron, bedrooms to tidy, and a cat regarding me balefully over his feeding bowl. A wee cold just isn’t the same fun it used to be. Now no-one tucks me up on the sofa/couch with chicken soup and lets me watch the telly in peace. Anyway, the dozy gal has been replaced by a noisy man shouting at people who usually resemble balloons. Even Lucozade has turned its back on the sickly. It’s not there to aid recovery any more, but to turbo-charge already fit people.

Now grown-up people such as you and me stagger about, snorting decongestant and sipping ‘lemon-flavoured’ hot drinks that taste like the Seafield breeze. Grown-ups don’t get the chance to enjoy their colds. We have to sit in offices snorfling like sea lions, whilst trying to concentrate on Powerpoint presentations about ball park figures that came out of blue sky thinking whilst the rising tide of green slime swamps our sinuses.

Let’s reclaim our colds, our couches and, dammit, our Lucozade. Just as soon as I get the boy’s bedroom tidied, the cat fed, the washing machine emptied, the ironing done and that presentation for tomorrow’s meeting sorted out.

SOME HANDY OFF-LINE ANTI-VIRUS SOFTWARE THAT’S NOT TO BE SNIFFED AT

Virus ridden I may be, but I still have consideration for my fellow humans. Paper hankies are cheap, I find, and useful for all kinds of other little emergencies, such as moping up spilled coffee, jotting down e-mail addresses and, of course, wiping the face of a grubby child, having first taken the step of moistening the handkerchief in the time honoured fashion of mothers everywhere.

There are some folks out there who appear unfamiliar with the usefulness of the hanky. It is generous of you to want to share your germs, but believe me, it is much more satisfying to capture the little devils and take them home with you. Think of them as very small pets, snuggled in their very own little white paper blanket.

NEW BREED OF TORY WILL NEVER BE TOP PEDIGREE

Many years ago, my friend bought what she referred to as a Paisley Border Collie. It is a mutt, I said. Oh no, she said. The man said it is a brand new breed. This is the very first one. It is a mutt, I said.

As far as I know, my friend’s dog remained the only example of a Paisley Border Collie. It was a masterful rebranding of what was clearly a mutt.

Ah yes, couches may rebrand into sofas, and bright yellow fizzy drinks may re-invent themselves as Olympic fodder for aspiring athletes. They stay the same thing, though, really. And Tories will always be Tories no matter what they call themselves, Murdo. But you might like to take yourself across to Paisley to consult with a man who managed to pass a mutt off as a pedigree.

HISTORIC . . IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE

Have you been to the rebranded, revitalised, refurbished National Museum of Scotland yet? Go, and do this right swiftly. It is a triumph.

And you won’t – I promise – even notice the fact that the fish have gone. Or you wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t mentioned it. Darn. Bear with me, I’ve got a cold.

It is beautiful, bright, and welcoming. The coffee in the café is terrific, and the staff are fantastic.

Gee whizz, it sounds the like near raving imaginings of a fevered mind. A project in Edinburgh completed on time, to budget and a veritable jewel in the city’s crown?

But no, it’s real. Just a thought, then, there’s another small project these people might like to take a look at . . .