Written by: Tony Harris, December 16, 2015
I am suffering. Out of nowhere, I have been hit by an exceptionally strong strain of Man Flu. As I clutch to the fast fading embers of life, so I begin the process of getting myself ready to make peace with my maker. My wife plied me with drugs to help stay the inevitable fate, so the priest hasn’t been called yet.
I was listening to a program, the other day, on the BBC about ‘coffin academies’ in South Korea. Apparently South Korea has one of the highest hourly work weeks of any nation bar Mexico. To encourage the employees to feel good about life they have mock funerals. Here the attendees write their own obituary and then are placed in a coffin, where they meditate and consider how good life is. Then after some period of time they let you out.
I assure you that a good dose of man flu has a similar effect and avoids any claustrophobic consequences. With all the advances in therapeutic ultrasound, one would think that they would turn their attention to finding a cure for man flu.
I think one of the funniest people ever to have lived, was Spike Milligan. He wrote his own epitaph, which is written on his gravestone in Gaelic. “Duirt mé leat go raibh mé breoite” it translates to “I told you I was ill”.