*a Fast Show reference

"Wow! You must have been close to death or something!", a friend remarked upon hearing that recently, I was so ill, I didn't even feel like sitting in bed and surfing the Internet.

It's true. A week or so ago, I was so unwell, with the sudden violent onset of a gastroenterological virus that had me bed and/or loo-ridden, that I didn't even feel up to going online, even whilst lying down. Sitting up wasn't an option, let alone standing, without experiencing stomach pain more usually associated eating a pineapple without peeling it first.

OK, so I'm a guy, and we all know how good men are at being unwell. However, on this occasion, I think the fact that I couldn't even sit upright without being in pain, suggests that it might not entirely be my imagination.

According to experts (women), men are notoriously bad at coping with illness without grossly exaggerating the condition, symptoms, and likelihood of death. Apparently, we (men) don't know what real pain is (childbirth), and thus are in no position to complain about any illness.

Now, OK, I know that there are some guys out there, prone to exaggeration - "The fish that got away was this big", or, "This is eight inches" etc., but don't tar us all with the same brush. When my body is doing an impression of a multi-head sprinkler system, I think I'm allowed to resort to curling up in a ball and watching M*A*S*H* DVDs.

Of course this virus, which has been doing the rounds in Denver, alongside a very popular flu strain, is highly contagious. My roommate had had it the weekend before, and so had my boss at the day-job. By all accounts you can contract it by touching surfaces, breathing in near, or it would seem, just looking at someone who has it.

You'd think, wouldn't you, that being confined to bed, without the strength to do anything but lie there, would cause me to contemplate the great issues of life, or to dream up ideas for well-written DMfM articles. The sad reality of it, however, was that I spent the majority of the afternoon and evening, clutching my guts, fading in and out of consciousness, and hoping that I didn't eventually have my stomach burst open to reveal a baby alien (á la John Hurt)

OK, so I didn't spend the evening being a 'brave little soldier', I spent it with feverish aches, being more of a 'little soldier who took a bullet in the guts, and wasn't going to let the world forget it'. I'm not proud. I'm just a guy.