Last Sunday I had used the excuse of pretend flu to avoid a New Years Eve Party and had been told on Monday that Jean-Claude wasn't well. A couple of days later I met him out walking the dog, or rather I heard him coughing, spluttering and wheezing long before I met him. He looked a terrible state eyes watering, nose running and as grey as an unwashed sheet.
He told me that his wife, if anything, was even worse than he and some of his family seemed to be going down with the same bug; the inference clearly was that Andrew had passed on his germs and was the source of the impending epidemic. Back home we got considerable amusement from the coincidence.
How often do our little fabrications catch up with us? What the Jolly Wheeze hadn't taken into account was that after the visitors had left he would want to return the borrowed heater, which he offered to do this morning! Non, Non I shouted, thinking if he comes round and sees Andrew prancing around like a young gazelle, he's going to be suspicious that we'd lied about going to the party. Now I'm in this dilemma as to how long Andrews flu can last.
In a quirk of poetic justice I've got the beginings of a runny nose and sore throat; am I going down with the germ they've got?
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