By the time you read this, it is a near certainty I will have breathed my last. I have been under the weather and my symptoms - a slight head cold, mildly runny nose and the odd desultory cough - are a clear indication that I have been struck down with the plague that has the nation quivering in terror.
No, moribund wretches, I am not referring to the Pathetic Snuffle Pandemic that is sweeping these festering isles, causing untold (nearly 20) cases of minor inconvenience. The malaise of which I speak is known to the medical profession as Taurean Faecal Glut - and to you and I as an excess of utter bullshit in the media.
How else can we explain the restrained 'Killer virus IS here' headline in the Daily Express, or the frank exposé of what appears to have been no panic buying in the Torygraph. Why, one might have thought supermarkets planted the story to bolster sales of Pot Noodles and Kendal mint cake! Oh, sorry, there's a denial from a Tesco spin doctor, so I unreservedly withdraw the allegation.
But perhaps the most fearful malady was Auntie's own 24/7 histrionics as it became clear that no fewer than two Scots had been subjected to the pernicious parasite Maxus Cliffordiensis; a condition that forces the sufferer to spew forth inanities in every direction at once.
And there is a far more chilling scenario still. As hideous as it may sound, consider what might happen if the NVB (Not Very Bad) viruses in their tiny sombreros were somehow to encounter the second scourge that is even now ravaging Her Majesty's Government! Yes, sufferers, I am referring to the Hypocritical Swine Fever that has struck down one parliamentarian after the next. Indications include a sanctimonious look of false concern and the reiteration of the meaningless factipod that the WHO reckons the UK is one of the countries best prepared for its own funeral. Were these diseases to meet and mutate, God alone knows what might happen.
Better stock up on the Lemsip.
No, moribund wretches, I am not referring to the Pathetic Snuffle Pandemic that is sweeping these festering isles, causing untold (nearly 20) cases of minor inconvenience. The malaise of which I speak is known to the medical profession as Taurean Faecal Glut - and to you and I as an excess of utter bullshit in the media.
How else can we explain the restrained 'Killer virus IS here' headline in the Daily Express, or the frank exposé of what appears to have been no panic buying in the Torygraph. Why, one might have thought supermarkets planted the story to bolster sales of Pot Noodles and Kendal mint cake! Oh, sorry, there's a denial from a Tesco spin doctor, so I unreservedly withdraw the allegation.
But perhaps the most fearful malady was Auntie's own 24/7 histrionics as it became clear that no fewer than two Scots had been subjected to the pernicious parasite Maxus Cliffordiensis; a condition that forces the sufferer to spew forth inanities in every direction at once.
And there is a far more chilling scenario still. As hideous as it may sound, consider what might happen if the NVB (Not Very Bad) viruses in their tiny sombreros were somehow to encounter the second scourge that is even now ravaging Her Majesty's Government! Yes, sufferers, I am referring to the Hypocritical Swine Fever that has struck down one parliamentarian after the next. Indications include a sanctimonious look of false concern and the reiteration of the meaningless factipod that the WHO reckons the UK is one of the countries best prepared for its own funeral. Were these diseases to meet and mutate, God alone knows what might happen.
Better stock up on the Lemsip.
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