Bugger

Bugger.

I am officially sick.

I've just been sent home from work, and am now tucked in beds in my jams when I should be out living. I do not how I caught this London bug, but I am not pleased about it.

This flu means that not only am I stuck in my flat instead of being out exploring, but also that I am missing out on a Christmas party tonight at the Design Centre, for which I had purchased the perfect red Christmas dress. I so was looking forward to mixing and mingling with everyone, sipping Kir Royales, and tasting a variety of h'or d'oeuvre sized pies, roly polys, and sticky toffee puddings. Instead I'm sipping a British version of Ther-a-Flu and tasting cough drops.

On the brightside (because there is always a bright side in my world) the cough drops are kind of delicious. They are cassis flavored - which is much more intrest-ing and tasty than cherry Halls. They're more like candy than medicine really.

I picked them up at Boots just a bit ago on my way home after I left the doctor.

It was my first experience with national healthcare, and unfortunately, I must admit I was not impressed.

I entered the Medical Centre to find a shabby reception area, with banners everywhere with adversments (advertisments to us Americans) for "Flu Jabs."

That's right, jabs. Which I actually believe more accurately describes the trauma and pain of getting stabbed and injected with a needle than the word shot.

After waiting nearly 30 minutes for my appointment, with no fun magazines to read and no children's play area to entertain me, I was finally ushered into a little room, where the doctor looked at my throat and declared I had the flu. No pulse checking, temperature taking, stethoscope listening, nothing.

Once awarded the title of flu, I was expecting a fun prescription or two to aide me in my recovery. But once again - nothing! The "Doctor" told me nothing would get rid of it, but I could take tylenol for the throat pain....

Not prepared to leave empty handed and fight this flu alone I said,

"Dr., I'm a medicine person. I feel better knowing there is medicine in me, even if it may not be doing anything. In my far away land, we have these magical little things called Zpaks. Can you get me one of those, or something like it?

But apparently Zpak doesn't translate here.

So, I found myself in Boots The Chemist, shopping the cold/flu aisle for something that looked effective. Armed with sprays, tablets, pills, drops, and drinks of every kind and flavor, I headed up to a chemist to ask his professional opinion on the matter.

"Well," he began. "It depends on your symptoms really. Do you have a sneezy nose, or more of a chesty cough? Cause this one here'll take care of a sneezy nose, but won't do much for a chesty cough."

"I've got both, sir, plus a sore throat," I replied.

"Well then, you're going to need this numbing throaty spray, these pills here for the sneezy nose, and a syrup for the chesty cough."

"And - are you coughing up mucus? Cause you'll need a different pill for that."

When he said mucus, he whispered it like it was a bad word.

I left with cough drops, Ther-a-Flu, and cold and flu pills that I exchanged for the cornucopia of medicines the chemist had suggested. Sometimes I trust my own instincts better than that of professionals. Particularly when I sense the professionals are mad as a hatter.

So to at least remind myself that I am in London while I am trapped inside, I am going to have an English movie marathon starting with Love Actually, moving on to the Bridget Jones series, and finishing off with some Jane Austen. If you have any suggestions, kindly do share.

I'll be here all night.