This newsletter was originally published via email on the 28th February 2016. You can also sign up to receive Ice Cream Sundae with the form on the right-hand side column or here (The newsletter format shifted from long to shorter form since).
I’m afraid these are dire times at Ice Cream central.
As I am writing this at snail pace, struggling to organise my thoughts into a semblance of readable flow, all the strengths I mentioned in last week’s Sundae have all but abandoned me.
I am listening to Keith Jarret’s Köln Concert to encourage writing in the midst of misery, rekindling with the occasional tradition of offering you to read this Sundae along with music if you wish.
Alas my dear reader, the infamous disease has struck this house to the full.
I first felt Fate’s feverful fingers fast fastening over my throat a mere two days ago.
I candidly discarded the out of place feeling as another common cold, as I readapt to the rude and humid winter climes of London.
My initial self-diagnosis was re-enforced by the fact that my toddler nephew I’ve been spending time with recently has been ill for several days.
I went about my working day in normal fashion, valiantly typing on my computer to answer emails, preparing documents, dutifully digesting notes from a client workshop, even recklessly conducting an interview for my podcast.
I even dared to go out for lunch.
And perhaps supreme mistake, thinking I deserved it. I stopped working early and went to a late afternoon showing at the nearby cinema. I walked on the way there and back, possibly the final straw.
Little did I know how I would feel the following day.
I woke up feeling woozy and dazed.
The first initial symptoms of the dreaded fever rising.
As you read this I now know that at the height of my hubris I have challenged Fate and overstepped my bounds as a lowly male human.
I can pinpoint the exact time.
Yesterday even though feeling terribly ill, I mocked the virus.
I forced myself out of bed bright and early to publish my latest podcast episode, an interview with Matthew Dawkins, aka The Gentleman Gamer.
I rested for at least an hour to recover from the effort.
Believing mind could preside over matter, I soldiered on afterwards, taking care of a backlog of admin paperwork.
I ignored the symptoms for as long as I could, writing and printing letters, calling diverse public and private services in France and in the UK.
So far so good, I thought to myself.
I felt ready and well enough to conquer the outdoor world one more time before succumbing to the cold sweltering embrace of the fever.
As the pilgrim on a sacred quest, I walked to the Post Office to send recorded delivery mail.
Yes, you are certainly reading between the lines by now, guessing my affliction.
I cannot hide the tragic truth any longer.
I fear I have contracted the Man Flu.
At the same time most common and controversial, the Man Flu is a mystery for some, an absolute certainty for others.
I slept most of Friday afternoon.
I watched one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen in the evening. Don’t watch Burnt. It’s not even worth linking to.
In the “down and out asshole finds a new purpose in life thanks to a young woman” film category, I’d highly recommend Begin Again with Mark Ruffalo and Keira Knightly instead. It’s about music rather than verbally and physically abusing people in a kitchen, otherwise sort of the same gist. It’s a good flick.
I did some reading as I forced my ill body to the desk one more time to start writing.
I discarded my initial draft about The Story conference to share this experience with you.
Who am I to know the difference between the common cold and the flu – influenza?
This mysterious gap between two often mistaken viruses is perhaps where the “Man Flu” legends began. In most adult humans, the common cold doesn’t prevent normal day-to-day operations. However in some cases and in particular for males of the species, the common cold unpredictably escalates to a near complete incapacitation of the specimen.
Is it the flu then?
Difficult to say.
It could be a strong cold, but I’ve read there is no such thing. In doubt, I imagine we’ve had to create a new denomination for this particularly distressing condition men seem predisposed to.
Several websites and news articles have attempted to sort fact from fiction over the years. A new piece of research was published as recently as December 2015 suggesting that Man Flu may be an actual condition men suffer from. It was first published in the American Journal of Physiology – Lung Cellular and Molecular Physiology by researchers at John Hopkins University. It that doesn’t ring of authority, I don’t know what can.
I have to admit I was a little behind with reading the AJP-LCMP, though I found out about this in a no less reputable and trustworthy source, I F*cking Love Science.
The basic findings are summed up the research article title: “Estrogenic compounds reduce Influenza A virus replication in primary human nasal epithelial cells derived from female, but not male, donors”
This post in the NHS (UK National Health Service) from 2009 also confirms symptoms of the Man Flu are in fact real. Or at least that’s how the post started because it’s a quote, never mind the fact that it comes from an article in the Daily Mail, of course a reputable source.
I wouldn’t recommend reading the post to the end given the answer we all wanted is provided straight from the start. Forget about it saying, “the study has limited direct implications for human health, and the findings are over-interpreted in some of the newspapers.” It’s barely relevant.
Thankfully dedicated scientists toil away to prove the reality of the Man Flu since then.
Even if we considered this relevant, it was years ago. Thankfully dedicated scientists toil away to prove the reality of the Man Flu since then. Luckily for us men, women have taken charge while we may be assigned to residence and unable to conduct the simplest of tasks.
Sabra Klein was the lead author on the recently published study, PhD and Associate Professor in Molecular Microbiology and Immunology. Apparently “what makes her study unique is that they were able to directly identify the sex-specific effect of estrogen.”
The study was also reported in Science Daily, and Dr Klein stated: “We see clinical potential in the finding that therapeutic oestrogen that are used for treating infertility and menopause may also protect [women] against the flu.”
The fact that grammar and linguistics specialists consider “may” a defective verb because it has no infinitive, past participle or future tense is hardly relevant here. Let us move on from such minute details and focus on the hard scientific reality of the Man Flu.
But why do men suffering of the Man Flu turn to drama and tragedy, I hear you ask?
I will endeavour to use the remainder of my meagre energy to research this and offer a theory.
It turns out Greek tragedies were all written by men (you can correct me later if I’m wrong).
Given they are some of the oldest known and documented forms of performance arts, we unfortunately lack specific information about the origins of tragedies as a theatre form.
According to Aristotle’s Poetics (and Wikipedia, mostly) tragedy evolved from a tradition to sing hymns and dance in rituals honouring Dionysus. God of the grape harvest, winemaking and wine, of ritual madness, fertility, theatre and religious ecstasy, suffice to say he was pretty busy with all these responsibilities.
Coincidence?
Improvable.
It is entirely possible that Dionysus in trying to perform so many jobs at once contracted the Man Flu first, our “patient zero” if you will. Perhaps it was the consequence of some mistake or misdemeanour amongst Olympian Gods, as is often the case in Greek mythology. In turn Dionysus passed on the Man Flu to his male followers who sung hymns and danced in his honour. The men who later contracted the virus were probably the first Greek Tragedy playwrights.
And there lies our link.
Men, next time you fall to the terror of Man Flu, in your blinding pain, remember you may well be offered the chance for divine tragic inspiration. It may be the time to write, paint, sculpt, or whatever your artistic release is. However if your strengths have completely left you, probably best to stay in bed on your couch for an extended period of time.
Women, please remember men are only asking for compassion (and chicken soup). Yes they moan endlessly about it, but don’t forget their affliction may be scientifically proven to be real. Hopefully you can find it in yourself to smile or laugh – with us though, not at us. Ok maybe at us, but just a little bit. Give him a pen and ask him to write a tragedy, maybe is he taken with a fever of divine inspiration, you never know.
I will now make my adieu and retire to bed, in the same way the creature Gollum crawled around his lair, a small island on a lake at the roots of the Misty Mountains.
I leave you with Gollum’s namesake throaty cough, as performed by Andy Serkis in the film adaption of the Lord of the Rings.
Best,
Willem
PS: This is my first mock-tragic piece, I hope you enjoyed reading it. Please forward it to a friend if you did! I’ve also started publishing Ice Cream Sundae on Medium and my blog – albeit with a week’s delay, so you will still receive it via email first.
