Two very rare, but equally frightening and dangerous, events occurred last week: Coastal flooding in my village, and me contracting ManFlu.
Being of a robust constitution, I usually laugh in the virus-covered faces of those with colds and flu, and continue, manfully, to make it into work whilst those around me succumb to the snuffles.
Unfortunately, it appears that my immune system just stores all the lurgies somewhere (is that what your appendix is for, really?) and then lets a year’s supply of angry, stir-crazy, unpleasantness out to roam my system on the same day. Or “Germageddon” as I’ve scientifically named it.
Whilst my cocktail of lethal nastiness was getting to work, mother nature was busy doing her worst around the country too, and had decided to save up a once-in-a-decade high tide vs strong winds experience for my entertainment, with the added thrill of an extreme low pressure system chucked in, just in case it wasn’t already exciting enough.
Being a bit of a tide-level nerd, a predicted 10.6m high made it sound very much like I’d need my waders to get to the Post Office, so I was determined to be on the Prom at Arnside at the very moment it peaked. Plus, I was secretly hoping to spot the one berk who decided to ignore all the warnings that had been broadcast through every form of media for several days beforehand, and attempt to drive their car through the latest addition to Morecambe Bay.
On the big day, my temperature was oscillating faster than I could add/remove layers of clothing, and whilst conditions were blowy and prone to sudden violent moments of cascading moisture outside, I was similarly afflicted from the comfort of my sofa.
It seemed that fate had conspired against me. Whilst the waves lapped over the pavements of my village (and through the doors of homes in neighbouring Sandside) and traffic ground to a halt, I too was stranded, unable to drag my flu-ravaged body from the house.
Luckily, the wonders of technology came to my rescue; If I couldn’t go to the flood, the flood could come to me, via WiFi! Whilst the watery waves crept higher, their electronic counterparts washed the event to me live, courtesy of the Chip Shop webcam, and it’s all-seeing camera chum, located in a shop opposite the pier.
Adding to the drama was a live update of the latest news, plus jolly exciting and dramatic photographs, delivered straight to me via the wonders of twitter tech, local users and businesses, and my Christmas present 7” tablet computer.
Mopping my fevered brow, and squinting through my watering eyes, I was able to experience the whole thing first hand, without the need for a brolly (but with similar levels of moistness).
You’ll be pleased to hear I am expected to make a full recovery, although any spare chocolate, or cappuccinos, would definitely help the healing process.
Sadly, there is no known cure for nerdiness.
This post first appeared as my "Thank Grumpy it's Friday" column in the North West Evening Mail on the 10th of January, where it was retitled 'Fine view of floods seen from sick bed', which is quite... literal.
I'd post you a link to the version used by the paper on their website, but for some reason it hasn't made it on there. I hope this isn't a subtle way of trying to tell me I'm not wanted any more.
I'm still holed up in the spare bedroom, whilst the 'office' is decorated. So far, I've moved most of the stuff out of there. Not bad for two weeks, I reckon. Don't want to overdo it and hurt myself, do I? Besides, it's warmer in here.
(Another homemade compilation CD is filling the cans tonight, currently with a spot of Sister Sledge's "Lost In Music". Smoooooth.)
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