I sometimes think that the Flu Bug must have a personality of its own - a very perverse personality.
I imagine it choosing its victim and then watching and waiting; waiting and watching until that victim has some really important arrangement, perhaps a special meeting or an interview, or in my case, a holiday.
Yes, on Monday of last week I should have been in the East Coast Express thundering towards London. My seat was booked, the hotel organised and the sun was shining. Instead I was left at home, aching and miserable; cursing that wretched Flu Bug and wondering why it had to pick on me.
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