It was one of those tickles that you just know nothing short of a lung-busting hack will shift and despite my best efforts to surreptitiously cough into my sleeve, the tickle remained.
I had already awakened the interest of an obviously news-savvy customer base. People started looking in my direction with disdain. I could have ran into the store naked and painted from head to toe in lime-green paint and I would have attracted less attention.
By the time I'd made my excuses to Lizzie and pocketed my phone to enable a full-on, sustained throat clearer, there wasn't a fellow shopper within ten feet of me. In the distance I could see looks of abject terror etched on faces. Here was living, breathing swine flu, IN THE SAME BUILDING! A SUPERMARKET NONETHELESS!
You might be relieved to know that I have exhibited no oinking or preferences for snuffling around in the mud, and I have put my coughing fit down to a rogue particle which must have lodged itself in my windpipe.
Not that the patrons of the St Katharines Dock Waitrose would believe that. They're most likely besieging their doctor for a dose of Tamiflu as I write.
On the plus side, at least I got a clear run to the checkout.
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