Flu unites the country in an orgy of spluttering misery | Eva Wiseman

It’s completely horrible and potentially deadly – but at least it’s got us talking to each other

It goes spring, summer, autumn, winter, flu. This is a season of sickness, and the only season yet to be immortalised in a poem. There are no hedges and buttercups here, only the creeping mountain of toilet paper, scrunched, the smells are not those of lilacs, instead the ripe breath of someone with some terrible memory in their throat.

Flu is walking among us, poking us with its poisoned umbrellas

Continue reading... February 18, 2018 at 11:30AM