Untuned Catarrh

In the last few days I’ve been afflicted by a catarrh laden cold. This rare malaise seeing your’s truly’s frequent chesty hacks manifesting with such ferocity I wouldn’t be surprised if they started from my feet.

The bark then gaining momentum as it works upwards through my innards, chest, windpipe and mouth where it’s emitted with such power my toenails and testicles have been amongst the items orally discharged.

It’s infrequent for me to suffer from cold/flu-like symptoms. Even the much vaunted man-flu seems to generally stay clear of GJ Strachan’s immune system. If truth be told I’m not into namby-pamby physical illnesses like bronchial afflictions…… I save that for mental illness.


Ordinarily, if I’m going to become physically ill I aim high, as was the case in January when I suffered a heart attack, along with April when succumbing to serious gastric bleed. My ingrained attention-seeking not allowing me to contract anything incapable of gaining high levels of sympathy when I advertise the malaise on social media.

Having this nasty phlegm driven cough has reminded me why I don’t normally ‘do’ colds. It’s incredibly inconvenient being practically housebound with this ailment, not to mention deeply uncomfortable when I wretch. The hours aren’t good either, the symptoms considerably worse during the night when laid horizontal.

This cold weather and fact the gas fire is knackered aren’t assisting at enhancing my diminished comfort levels. Even a hot curry for Saturday evening dinner failed to sweat out this lurgy sourced weakened constitution. In fact, with my bunged sinuses rendering my palette tactile, I could barely taste last night’s spicy Indian dish.

As fate can so often dictate, West Yorkshire’s temperatures are starting to plummet to coincide nicely with this diminishment of heating appliances in casa Strachan senior. My mum is away, consequently she’s not impacted by her home not producing it’s usual greenhouse-like environment. I suffer in solitude.

Ordinarily, I deem Maggie’s abode is far too warm; uncomfortably so at times. Heat generated that if not careful can cause severe dehydration, resulting in hallucinatory visions of an oasis in the living room. That being said, our pet camel Archie seems to approve.

Even though I’ve persisted in writing this tome, today’s a rare day when I feel completely unmotivated to pen an essay. This indifference to the process of sharing my literary art a consequence of a heavy cold, lack of inspiration, along with being distracted by the many chores I need to complete.

These the tasks that’ve been put off for a few days, such as unpacking my case from last weeks break in Morecambe. Not to mention starting to wash the laundry from that sojourn.

After all, It’d be unfair to leave it for my mum to undertake when she gets back from my sister’s in Macclesfield tomorrow…… Wouldn’t it??!!…… Actually, probably not. Now where’s that Netflix remote?!

Seriously, though, you need to cut the whining Strachan. After all, you’ve got central heating, a roof over your head, food on the table and know all verses to Procol Harum’s A Whiter Shade of Pale. So get the f*** over your unhardships!!!…… And, yes I know there’s no such word!……. Actually, where the hell’s all that food on the table come from?!!


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