Like thousands of other people, I suffered from a vile flu lurgy during the festive season that may well have been the HN1N strain. In my case, it started on December 23 and ended just after New Year, thereby scuppering plans for fun and frivolity. Initially thinking it was “just a cold”, I spread it like an unwanted gift amongst some good friends who subsequently had temperatures of 104C for Christmas.

'Twas the season to be un-jolly: it’s difficult to appreciate adjectives such as merry and happy when you have a persistent cough that makes I it feel as if sandpaper has been applied to the inside of your lungs.

It quickly occurred to me that my two little boys, aged almost three and four, remained strangely immune to the vile lurgy while everybody else was sneezing, spluttering and annihilating whole boxes of Kleenex. My boys were inoculated against swine flu last winter, at our GP surgery’s behest. Although I had serious misgivings about the jab afterwards – especially as a huge cyst formed on my older boy’s arm a week or so later – it seemed that they were saved from a viral Christmas present that nobody, and especially the young and vulnerable, wants.

As for the policy concerning flu pandemics, didn’t the government place full page ads in the broadsheet newspapers last year warning us about the dangers of swine flu? Weren’t there loads of highly visible ads telling us to catch our coughs and sneezes in our han-ker-chieves? In comparison, this winter when people are actually catching porcine sweaty flu in their droves, there seems to be very little fuss and fanfare from the medical profession. Last year, people were told to stay at home and keep their damn germs to themselves. This year, my GP told me that they don’t bother with that now: there’s no requirement to quarantine yourself with the Kleenex and Lemsip or, indeed, to wear one of those facial dust masks you can procure in Dockerills. Directly after my appointment, I dosed myself up with Benylin cold and flu medicine and trottered off into Brighton to have my hair done: the hairdresser was visiting from Berlin for just a few days and had suffered from the vile lurgy already. Really, with hindsight, I should’ve been at home sneezing over nothing more exciting than my own sofa. Share the joy but not the germs!

One thing that strikes me: if sections of the population are offered flu jabs, it makes little sense to inoculate small children but not their parents. It’s fortunate that I had help from my family because the lurgy stripped me of the energy needed to keep on top of my house and entertain my lively little boys. Doesn’t it occur to those who allocate injections that perhaps it would be best to jab mummy too? Who is supposed to look after the nation’s hyperactive toddlers when their folks are in bed with temperatures hotter than a sauna?

Surely, with the Tamiflu surplus that existed last winter during the pandemic that failed to live up to expectations, parents who didn’t think that the jab was a bit hammy could have been injected as well as their kids.

Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here