A week ago I was feeling icky, unwell, bleurgh! But, what with me being me, I thought it was just me and my ME. However, with the lightning speed so familiar to me, I eventually realised this was something in addition to my ME and promptly took in my little sample to the doctor. Well, I didn’t personally, I wasn’t well enough. My ex-husband took it in. That’s what ex-husbands are good for. They come in handy for dropping off urine samples at the doctor’s surgery.
“You have a super superbug infection,” came back the reply. “Rest! Rest! And more rest!” Except it was all in German. Rest? Huh, for a change, like I don’t already. And “Drink plenty of water and chamomile tea!” Oh, great. My favourite beverage. Worn socks stewed in hot water. But drinking it I have been. That’s how you can tell when I’m really sick.
But then, horror of horrors! My friend Bachy, he’s a Bach too no relation, who works with my ex, told us here in Germany a nasty infection is doing the rounds and it’s all because of a Spanish cucumber. Even the organic ones! And what had I recently bought after weeks of not buying fresh vegetables? Yes, typical, isn’t it! I retrieved my Spanish organic cucumber from the fridge. My ex and I looked at each and at the missing half whereupon he promptly threw the remainder in the bin.
“Trust me!” I said to my ex. “The very moment I decide to buy something fresh I end up buying a killer cucumber!” Yes, I noticed the British Press have since stolen my catchphrase on that.
“I’ll tell Bachy,” said my ex, tittering uncontrollably at the irony of it all. Or was it terror at the thought of being struck down….
But, as cucumbers here in Germany are known as gherkins, I added, “Tell him the moment I decide to go out and buy fresh vegetables I come back with the Grim Reaper gherkin!”
Tell him he did. And Bachy, the rotter, is still snickering.