CURE FOR COMMON COLD!

The alarm clock is a wonderful invention. It helps me get up, reminds me it’s time to get the kids from school and even assists in the boiling of an egg. I’ve got a small travel alarm that makes a ring like a telephone. Confusing yes, but it's also sometimes invaluable. What makes it even better is the fact that it actually is a telephone. It’s one of those notepad computers as well and a multi-language translator, all pocket-sized and hi tech. A tree fell down in the night the other day and pulled down all the telephone wiring. Without my phone-alarm thing I’d be like some medieval hermit unable to speak to the outside world, unable to get the call from the agency, unable to get work. Maybe I’ll turn it off.
Other that my alarm-phone-translator thing I’m a pretty low tech guy.
I was bought an electric coffee grinder as a Christmas present by my in laws because after a good meal I disappear into the kitchen for five minutes manual grinding. 
I like turning the handle and hearing the beans crack, instead of the soulless whirl of an electric
 motor. For a while the new one sat still in it’s box, used only when the in laws come round, which by a strange chance is also normally the time I most want to spend five minutes in the kitchen. Now I’ve moved it out of the house to my shed where it sits on my fly tying table ready to blend together two colours of possum fur into a fine dubbing. It actually works rather well at this, a task that’s easy enough by hand but I feel I owe it to my in-laws to automate.
I wish I had kept the instructions for my phone alarm thing so I could give each function a different ringing tone. Whenever I boil an egg - and the phone noise goes to tell me if my yolk is still runny - I expect it to be my wife threatening to come home early and catch me with Penni. Whatever the ring-tone noise setting is on the telephone-alarm thing the sound of a guilty conscience always rings true.
I was making coffee when my wife phoned from work and asked me to make doctors appointment for her. I’m not sure why she did just phone the doctor. Anyway she had decided it was that time of year for her flu jab.
A couple of years ago I was made aware of a piece of academic research that suggested that frequent sex boosts antibody production, resulting in less illness. The researcher speculated that even the common cold could become a thing of the past if only people were having sex twice a week.
I never examined the full research methodology but I’m sure it was a research grant well spent. I can imagine students who wouldn’t otherwise have much of a chance signing up to be part of the trials. They, no doubt, were the first ones asked to abstain as a control group. Life can be so unfair, but at least they could take comfort in the knowledge that they were being celibate for science. I wonder if it is possible to have placebo sex.
Armed with this knowledge my wife’s request for a flu jab had therefore the kind of secondary meaning normally reserved only for a cabaret drag queen, “Just a little prick, you’ll hardly feel a thing.”
The down side of the research was a strong warning. Too much sex actually has the reverse effect. People having sex four or more times a week are no better off than those not having sex at all, other than the fact they have a big grin on their faces of course.
This could be why homeopathic practitioners have been telling us for years that a happy, well sexed individual is always going to live longer and be healthier than Christopher Skasse, although not necessarily have better super.
Presumably the Government have also know this for years which is why each time the hospitals ask for more funds the Government tells them to go and get screwed.
All this was going through my mind when the phone rang again. It was Penni from next door asking if I wanted to pop round. The invitation had the same effect as a bell used to for one of Pavlov’s dogs.
As soon as I walked in through the back door, (the front door at chez Penni hasn’t been opened to anyone for years, no Julian Clearyisms intended), I could tell something was wrong.
“Is something wrong ?” I asked perceptively.
In return she handed me a letter. It was headed, “Demand for Payment” and came from “The Caring Bank.”
“Looks like you're in Queer Street.” I ventured
“Venus hasn’t been giving me her share of the mortgage so I’ve been falling further and further behind.”
“Well what are you going to do ?” I already knew the answer.
“Sell up, get out, move into a box under the railway bridge.”
We discussed possibilities for a while, even managing to joke about different sorts of cardboard and which bridge would be the quietest for a good nights sleep. We weren’t really getting anywhere, I thought Penni really just wanted a hug.
Penni pulled away and looked at me. “The thing is what’s happening with us.”
“Don’t ask me,” I answered, “there aren’t enough hours in the day to sort some things out are there ?”
“If I’m not here will I still see you ?”
“Look Penni I’m not here because you’re only next door, I’m here because I love you.”
And that’s how it happened, how I said it for the first time. What surprised me, as much as it did her, was that I said it because it was true. I had slept with her, and that had all seemed good and natural/(if somewhat confusing and wrong at the same time,) but somehow without opening my mouth and saying it I hadn’t figured it all out. We kissed.
Just at that moment my phone thing went. With great timing it was my wife about her doctors appointment. I told her that I hadn’t been able to make an appointment for today but that I’d got her the first one for her tomorrow morning. She could have the flu jab and catch a late train.
She agreed it that would be fine and added “Is everything alright there ?”
“Yeah, couldn’t be better.”
“You sound sort of flustered.”
“I think I may be coming down with something.”
For the common cold sex may be a better cure than Panadol but it’s far from being a panacea for your problems.
When I got home there was a note on the doormat. It read, “The telephone repair man came today and found you out.”