Midway through last week the swollen gland in my neck turned into the Mystery Virus of Doom. I slept in between bouts of symptom-googling (I had glandular fever, tonsillitis, sleeping sickness, rheumatic fever, quinsy, dropsy, pansy and possibly consumption), and then I slept a bit more. Bernhilde swept down from the north like an avenging health fairy, wheeled my bed out into the sun, and fed me medicinal doses of fried cheese. And lo! I wake up today feeling as spry as a new-mown puppy. I'm writing up my testimonial for St Bernhilde's Mobile Sanatorium as we speak.