So, my winter coat has retired for the next six months, daffodils are now widely available in most supermarkets for 99p, and I have felt the need to replace last year's sunglasses with a pair of oversized shades that I think even Victoria Beckham would envy. Hell, I have even got over my jetlag from the clocks going forward last month. All is well with the world.
Or… maybe NOT. You see, two weeks ago, I came down with a cold. And not even a little sniffle either. A full-blown head-bunging, limb-aching, mucus-infested blinder. The kind of cold with which a lot of people would call in sick, pleading swine/bird/man flu before cocooning themselves in their duvet and demanding Lemsip and chicken soup from their sceptical other halves.