My friend was lamenting the three days she’d recently taken off work, when she felt so ill she’d barely moved from under her duvet. “I had that hideous bug that’s been doing the rounds,” she said. “You know?” I nodded sympathetically, poured her another cup of tea and tried not to look insufferably smug, because the truth was, I didn’t know. The idea of being bed-ridden with a cold , flu or any other sort of seasonal lurgy is alien to me.

At 47, I haven’t taken a day off work sick – well, and I’m racking my brains here, but I’m pretty sure… ever. I called in sick once, when I was 25 and hungover, a lie that haunts me to this day, and I’m not immune to the odd sneeze, blocked nose or throat that hurts to swallow.

But, with the exception of a bout of glandular fever when I was 13

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