Man 'Flu

I have just visited the doc's with what I perceived to be the advanced stages of third degree man 'flu - man 'flu X, in my opinion. a new and virulent strain! I was checked out thoroughly by the lady doc and made to feel that I was only two training sessions short of a world heavyweight title fight! I left empty handed... no drugs, no sympathy, not even a cuddle!

In my disgruntled state I started to reflect. Man ‘flu? Who labelled it thus? Yeah, women. A dismissive term that suggests that at best a bloke is malingering and at worst a cry-baby who can’t handle a bit of discomfort.
 
But whose fault is it that men feel so much pity for themselves when afflicted by this illness? Who is responsible for the pity? Yeah, women.

Why, you might wonder. Okay, consider this.

Back in caveman days when gender roles were slightly different (all right, completely different) men and women had very precise tasks to carry out. Women protected the family, nurtured the children and made the cave dwelling comfortable and habitable. Men were required to protect this territory from rivals, assailants and wild beasts. But more importantly they were expected to go out into the wilderness and hunt, bring back food to ensure the survival of the little Neanderthal family. And if they couldn’t do that, and the other aforementioned tasks, the family was in trouble and under threat, its very survival at stake. And cavewoman knew this!

So, the moment caveman showed any sign that he might not be able to carry out his tasks to the best of his ability, cavewoman sprang into action. At the first sign of a sniffle, a sneeze or a cough she made sure caveman followed her rules. Straight to bed, underneath a pile of furs next to a blazing fire while she plied him with ancient herbal concoctions to stave off illness. Cavewoman knew she could not have her caveman incapacitated for any prolonged period. The family’s wellbeing depended on him being back in action and able to get on with his tasks. Even if he protested that he was okay, cavewoman was not going to listen and certainly was not going to take the risk. Caveman had to follow orders. So, he did what he was told and took to his bed.

And now, as a result of this type of survival programming, ingrained in the psyche of male humans over thousands of years, a permanent mindset has been created in men. And now, the minute they feel slightly under the weather or out of sorts they believe their condition is just a few coughs short of life-threatening. And ironically women have forgotten they are the cause of this mindset, and as a result of that forgetfulness, now have zero sympathy. In fact they have adopted a totally different attitude and a man complaining of winter cold symptoms is an object of ridicule.

So, in the light of the doctor's negligence, it's back to 'ancient herbal remedies' for me - chicken soup, garlic milk with whiskey (don't turn your noses up - it was my mother’s recipe and no, she didn't have Arapaho Indian heritage) and a positive attitude!

Social Media Posting

“Mate, don’t think you’re taking this Facebook thing serious enough.”

“Whatcha mean, serious?”
“Well, it’s s’posed to be for serious stuff, innit?”
“Serious stuff? Like what?”
“Y’know... uh, well, like... holiday pics and like what you had to eat.”
“I posted a pic of melon, didn’t I? People eat melons, don’t they?”
“Yeah, but it’s more about meals and that... like... well... like they post where they been and what they’re eating. Like, uh, Joe Bloggs is in the Dog and Duck and eating steak, yeah?”
“Why?”
“Whatcha mean why?”
“I mean, why does anybody wanna know that this Bloggs geezer is eating steak in some pub what nobody’s ever heard of?”
“It’s social, innit? People like that shit. And then pics of families doing stuff and… you know…”
“Stuff? Like what?”
“Like... like, I dunno, going out fer meals and that.”
“So Facebook’s s’posed to be about eating then, is it?”
“Nah... nah, mate. Yer missing the point. There’s other things, ain’t there.”
“Like... what?”
“Well, things like.... you go to an airport when you go on holiday and you post something like... Joe Bloggs is at Gatwick Airport and eating breakfast.”
“Yeah? This Joe Bloggs geezer likes flippin’ eating, don’t he? I stick a melon pic up and you reckon I ain’t being serious enough! But this Bloggs muppet’s telling everybody what he’s eating! Who gives a toss?”
“Yer not listening, mate, are ya? It’s more than that. You can post stuff about... well, loadsa stuff from other sites, telling people stuff.”
“Yeah? Like what? Stuff you made, or made up yourself, you mean...?”
“Nah, nobody does that. They download stuff... videos, posters, slogans and stuff and they show it to all their Facebook mates.”
“So they post other people’s stuff and just tell it to ya even if you don’t give a shit?”
“Nah, not exactly... well okay, a bit like that but they’re trying to, you know –”
“Nah, I don’t know. You said it was serious stuff they was posting and now’ya tell me they post stuff about what their eating and stuff that they never even made up themselves. And you have a go at me about a friggin’ melon pic!”
“Chill, geezer, I ain’t havin’ a go. Just trying to put’ya right about what’s expected. And it ain’t just that sort of stuff. There’s other stuff too.”
“Like what?”
“Will’ya stop saying that! Stuff like... uh... yeah, like people say they’re interested in going to an event near you.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that they’ve seen something they’re interested in and –”
“They are interested in?”
“Yeah, so they tell people.”
“Hang on. You saying they tell people who don’t give a toss that they’re going to an event just ’cos it’s near somebody, even if other people ain’t interested in that event?”
“Yeah... loads of ’em do it.”
“And what happens after they been to this event?”
“Eh?”
“I said, what happens after –”
“Yeah I know what you said. I dunno. Nobody ever says. Nobody ever says whether they actually went or not.”
“You’re having a giraffe, ain’t ya? Gimme that melon here. Fancy a slice?”

Christmas Shopping

I popped out to go food shopping just before Christmas. For me. One basket, that’s all. Big mistake. The ‘mindless’ were out too. In droves. Stopping for no reason in an aisle for a chat; wandering around in that ‘I’ve no idea why I’m here’ gait; staring at shelves as if they haven’t seen any products in shops before. (“It’s a feckin’ yoghurt. You never seen one?” I wanted to say to one woman who seemed to have gone into a fixated stupor in one of the aisles); pushing trollies around with unfeasible amounts of totally unnecessary food in them as if Armageddon has been announced and that’s the end of the world’s food supply.

Meanwhile, I’m in ‘commando shop mode’ (get in, get it, get out); if any one had been looking at CCTV footage the scene would have looked like one of those sci-fi movie special animation shots where the masses are in slow-mo and the alien is whizzing about like a dervish on high-grade amphetamines.

I survived but I’m not sure I provided the perfect Christmas spirited response when the checkout person asked, “You ready for Christmas?” when I replied, “Shut the f**k up and gimme a bag. I ain’t a bleedin’ juggler.”