Thursday, 2 May 2013

Man Flu as Gran Flu (Living With Mum 14)





A deep grumbling came from the kitchen. It was not dear old mum’s orchestrated bowels blasting out Beethoven’s ninth although the noise emitted was from the good lady. She was moaning at her aging washing machine which seems, much like its owner, to be nearing the end of its tenure..
“I’m de-scaling the kettle,” called out mum through phlegmy chest. “Leave out your underpants.”
“De-scale away old girl,” said I a little less flippantly, “I am going to de-scale the old barnet with some Lynx-Africa, I am going to have a shower and my pants don’t need de-scaling thanks!”
With that I skipped away sharpish before any demands for other items of clothing could be made.
The reason mum’s chest is, as I described above, ‘phlegmy’ is due to my having a very mild cold over the weekend.
The damn thing arrived uninvited Friday morning but had the good sense to bugger off again the following day. Not much of a cold thankfully.
As far as the matron of my abode is concerned it was far worse. As forcefully as I protested my health as being fairly blooming, mater took another view. I was being ‘wilful. I shouldn’t be so cavalier with my health and really shouldn’t have whizzed around the garden on Sunday trimming borders and mowing lawn. “Not when it is cold out.  You could catch something nasty.” (I already had and then quickly kicked it into touch.)
By Monday I was glad to get into the office. I confess I wasn’t that surprised when my mobile rang revealing widow cranky’s  number.
“Hello mum!”
“How’s the cold?”
I politely said, like the well- mannered child I was raised to be, that I was fine then said goodbye.
I wanted to say “Mum, there is a fifty in front of the nine. I am capable of looking after moir without your well-meaning interference. Go hatch a dragons egg or wrestle with some unpleasant Orcs. Of course I didn’t.
Now though mum has the cold that I infected the household with. The household being me and she and one or two spiders cowering in the wainscoting.
She is bravely soldiering on but with regular bulletins being posted, ones that I really don’t need to hear.
When one is dipping spoon into breakfast bowl the last thing you need to be discussing is the colour and consistency of expectorated phlegm. Be it green, yellow or clear I really do not give a flying wotsit.
My only regret at this juncture is that I brought the bloody virus, nasopharyngitis, or rhinopharyngitis or whatever nasty bug it might be into the house in the first place.
So much for not making a fuss eh?

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 all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy.To view my books on Amazon/Kindle go here: https://www.amazon.com/author/russellduffy -- For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

1 comment:

thecheesewhines said...

My mother is a retired nurse. I am also a nurse, but I always resolved never to discuss medical issues at the dinner table. My mother would be all too happy to have a rip-roaring discussion of phlegm, bowels, or maggot-infested wounds while sitting down to the evening repast.