Fungus, Flu and the Snotty-Nosed Apocalypse

By A Less-Tolerant Cancer Survivor…

When I was a kid, the worst thing you could catch was the mumps. You’d get a cold around Christmas, sneeze like a lawn sprinkler, and your mum would shove a hot water bottle at you and tell you to get on with it. That was the 1980s version of the NHS. Now, though, I can’t even open a window without risking being killed by some airborne microscopic monster that’s mutated in a swampy bit of someone’s nostril.