Germ Warfare

".... the Martians--dead!--slain by the putrefactive and disease bacteria against which their systems were unprepared; slain as the red weed was being slain; slain, after all man's devices had failed, by the humblest things that God, in his wisdom, has put upon this earth...
 ... These germs of disease have taken toll of humanity since the beginning of things--taken toll of our prehuman ancestors since life began here. But by virtue of this natural selection of our kind we have developed resisting power; to no germs do we succumb without a struggle, and to many ... our living frames are altogether immune. But there are no bacteria in Mars, and directly these invaders arrived, directly they drank and fed, our microscopic allies began to work their overthrow."(1) 

Unfortunately, I think in the 2013 version in my head of H.G. Wells' masterpiece, "War of the Worlds", we are the Martians and "our microscopic allies" are a bunch of turncoat gits.

I am feeling rather under attack and based on the testimonies of many friends, neighbours and the local community, they are all under attack too.  It seems we are facing germ warfare and I am not talking the wondrous "George's Marvellous Medicine" of death that governments use to wipe out thousands of people for oil, diamonds, adamantium or a decent cup of tea but the grot that we pick up on door handles and the sprinkles of other peoples mouth fluids that get fired into our faces as they sneeze and cough without the appropriate Victorian gloved hand to the cake hole.  You could be hanged in 19th century society for not covering your mouth when involuntarily expactorating.  Fact!

Official statistics, that I just made up, covering the period October 2012 to end February 2013 estimate that 95% of families in the south east of England have been bedridden with some "viral this or that" to quote the British Medical Association.  In fact a reliable source recently informed me that viral meningitis and three flavours of stomach bug are currently storming the county of Hampshire, at present.  Our dear county of Surrey is in the throes of flu along with some fabulous high fever and hacking cough combo with a bit of croup thrown in for good measure.  

Honestly. What the hell is going on? 

As a wee nipper in the 1980's I got a cold and cough once a year which lasted about three days and then went away, never to return until around the same time the following year.  

Occasionally, there would be vomitus but invariably it would be once, normally after the soluble disprin my mother would make me down in one, which is basically the equivalent of sticking your finger down your throat. Yes kids, in my day there was no banana flavoured amoxicillin, strawberry flavoured paracetamol and orange flavoured ibuprofen.  Oh no.  Medicine tasted bad and when I say bad, I mean bad.  That was your punishment for being born in the last century.  Medical science advanced from leeches to soluble disprin in a 100 years to the joy in a bottle that is Calpol for our spoilt little brats, luckily born and raised in the 21st century. 

The only other cause of vomitus in my day was a mucus pukus.  Again, only once, due to heavy build up of thick stuff in ones nose and throat which children sadly do not have the ability to remove in as stylish a manner as adults.  But more importantly vomitus had nothing to do with any nasty gastroenteritis that seems to be all the rage on the catwalks of Milan and therefore; everywhere.

I am concerned.  I was not brought up to be a fastidious clean freak.  I have always been a big believer in picking up dropped food off our filthy floor and jolly well eating it.  Firstly, because there are starving children in Africa (this was the most often quoted sentence in my house growing up) and because it can be fun.  It is like eating roulette.  Especially when some of the things on the floor are raisins.  But also because, who cares?  Germs are good for you.  They build up your immunity!

I don't believe this anymore, as the all pervading viruses seem to be able to adapt and morph in a few weeks, like the mutant Mystique (who is super cool but will not make you lose your lunch or poop your pants in 60 seconds).  It seems we are entering a period in time where we are having to start from scratch with this immunity malarky and will now have to go through 10 years worth of Norovirus before we don't get it again and every shade of flu before we don't have to endure that bed soaker for awhile.  Frankly, it is not worth it.  If viruses are so bloody clever, we will never become immune.  

I guess it is overkill wearing a face mask and permanently hand sanitising, but I think it is wise to be a bit of a nut job hand washer, which I have become.  I have extended this mania to my children, whereby as they walk into the house, the first thing they do, is wash their hands.  Because, really, who has time these days to be ill? 

This is paranoid behaviour but I can proudly say that I have not had GQ's Sexiest Bug; Norovirus, for five and a half years.  Neither has my other half or my daughter and my son has not had it for three years.  Admittedly, we do not eat out, socialise, let people breathe near us and have no skin on our hands due to excessive hand washing. I am particularly insane on this one because I am a terrified emetophobe and no doubt, due to this cocky statement about the lack of chundering in my house, the God of sick will cast upon me a curse of a thousand Noroviruses for my blasphemy.

The current health of the nation is a serious talking point.  I have now seen three long documentaries on the BBC discussing in depth, the disgustingness of viruses and how they spread.  Angela Rippon presented a stellar feature on how those magical tin cans of the sky are a frightening breeding ground for viruses. "Confined space, recycled air and the mushroom cloud of airplane food farts above every seat is an epidemic waiting to happen".  (I might have edited her exact comments just a little).  As my dear husband set off on his latest business trip I bid him adieu, told him I loved him and encouraged him not to lick his tray table, which according to Ange, contains the biggest mass of bacteria on a plane.  Even more than the airplane toilet!  I can believe this, as on every long haul flight I have been on, it is clear most people wee around the toilet than in it.

Oh, I did like things when they were simple.  I can't bear the invisibility of this enemy.  When I was growing up in the 80's there were three token kids in all junior schools.  There was the school fat kid and the bogey boy and bogey girl.  I remember my three, 30 years on, by name.  Admittedly, the school fatty doesn't exist anymore based on statistics on childhood obesity.  I imagine the thin kid is the one who gets beaten up and given a wedgie.  Still the school fat kid was harmless with the exception of a curious odour.  The bogey boy and bogey girl however were tricky.  My dreadful memories of these poor unfortunate children who clearly were of a sickly ilk and had no nerve endings in their upper lip has scarred me so badly that I do not allow any bats in the cave in my family.  The children have raw nostrils due to wiping their nose as soon as there is the inkling of a runner and the husband is beaten with a ladle if he is in the same pea green boat.

I remember countless conversations with the bogey girl, in particular (as we did not talk to boys when I was 8 years old, occasionally we would show them our pants but no chit chat, heaven forfend) and after a few minutes of eye watering conversation watching that thick green globule teeter on the brink of falling into the abyss of the mouth, I would run away crying and breathing fast into a paper bag.

Yet as revolting as the whole experience was, at least it was visible and I knew exactly where to stand.  

As far away as possible.
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There will be a two week hiatus to my blog while I go on holiday to do some much needed people watching and eyelid tanning. Hopefully on the back of that fortnight away I will be full of caustic chat inspired by my holiday and less full of information on bodily function, which although my favourite subject, isn't really anybody elses.  Toodle-oo!
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Funny of the Week
As this week's article has been on the grimmer parts of life during the winter months in this country, I thought I would share something equally grim that my little boy brought back in his rucksack from the wonderful Forest School that he attends once a week at his lovely pre-school.   The post-Forest School routine is he returns home exhausted and covered in whatever muck they have been rolling in during the day.  I empty his rucksack of the clothes he has shed on his travels, his half eaten lunch and water bottle.  

This week however, I was rather shocked to see something in the shadows at the bottom of his rucksack and I can only describe what I saw, as something that had come out of the shadows of someone elses bottom.  I was so disgusted that I could not stick my hand in the rucksack to pull it out, so after much violent shaking of the bag, it fell on the floor.  

Well, for the arborists amongst you, it is indeed a turd shaped pine cone. 

(1) H.G. Wells "War of the Worlds