Lung hospital revisited - the patient's view

I refer my reader to an earlier entry where I berated all those inconsiderate selfish whining babies who insisted on attending a theatrical performace and inflicting their noisy, phlegmy wet hacking coughs on the rest of the audience in a doomed and pathetic attempt to garner sympathy for their various lung diseases, rather than doing the decent thing and stayng at home, where they could expire as loudly as they wished.

Another bloody Council Tax rise. That's it: I'm outta here

I now realise the folly of my ways, and have nothing but utter contempt for those miserable, unfeeling, selfish and stone-hearted sadists who refuse to offer even the most niggardly scrap of sympathy and understanding to such poor afflicted people.

Last Monday, Dec 22nd, the missus and I attended a performance of The Messiah at King's Place


What does that word say?
I think it's 'Hallelujah'


Unfortunately that afternoon I had developed, over the period of about an hour, shortness of breath, the shivers, a raging headache, blurred vision, nausea, aching joints, cold sweats, and a sore, tickly throat that required constant coughing and throat clearing (otherwise known as a cold).


I need something to unblock my nose. A shovel might do the trick

However, I am not one to complain, as my missus would readily attest to (in exchange for some time away from me when I'm ill). So I bravely turned up to view the performance, despite my near-death illness, pre-loaded with fistfulls of kleenex and strepsils.

OK, I admit there was a bit of sniffling and modest throat clearing now and then, with the occasional very discreet nose-blow. I do recall during one particularly quiet Aria I produced a muffled combined sneeze and cough, which I followed through with a most genteel nosewipe and reverse snuffle, but the look I got from the hatchet-faced old crone sitting in front of me when she turned to give me a double dose of gamma rays was as pitiless and cruel an act as I have had the misfortune to suffer.

I got my own back on the miserable old dyke though. I managed to stuff my used kleenex down the back of her jumper, although if I'd had a scorpion handy...

Kleenex not looking so bad now, is it?