I’m probably the world’s worst sufferer of manfluenza, which I have now. I’m afflicted with about ten of these bastards a year. And I swear their number increases with age. I’m currently laid up on the sofa, waiting to be fed, with a cup of hot Lemsip cooling on the arm of the chair. The one pleasure of being laid up at the moment, apart from imminent food, is my copy of Anthony Neil Smith’s Yellow Medicine, which I’m about to open now. Thus far it’s a rip-roaring read. If you haven’t read it yet, do so.