I have a cold, which my husband gave me. Is this grounds for divorce?

Also, I strongly suspect I taped an episode of Inspector Morse over the footage. In either event, this means I can’t check the actual wording of what I agreed to do, but I seem to remember promising to be something in sickness and in health. It’s the “something” word I’m stuck on. Was it patient? Caring? Kind? Murderous?

Susan Morrison has had been subjected to the full fury of a man with a cold

As I say, I’m a bit fuzzy on the details. At the time, being young and full of vim and vigour, illness was a trifling affair. I probably entertained notions of making tea, hot toddies or nourishing soup for my poorly husband. I’d bustle about fetching slippers and fluffing up pillows. He would smile and sink back on the freshly fluffed pillows (see above) and clasp my hand in gratitude. Sounded quite romantic, really. That, of course, was before I had been subjected to the full fury of a “Man With A Cold”.

It’s the noise. He snorfles. I realise that isn’t a word, but it’s as close as I can get. It sounds like a particularly aggrieved bull walrus having either a territorial dispute or looking for a mate. He can sneeze, cough and do a sort of nasal blast, all at the same time. Windows shake on buses driving past. It’s quite remarkable, really. Post-snorfling, he tries out a bit of a smaller cough, just in case I didn’t catch the house shaking with the first one.

Men, it seems, aren’t keen on resting back on those fluffy pillows (again, see above). They seem to prefer roaming free with their ailments, especially those that can be spread by flying droplets not caught by paper hankies. These, sodden and germ ridden, can then be safely disposed of down the side of armchair cushions.

Whatever that word in the promises was, I’m fairly sure it wasn’t “share”. Which he has. Don’t tell me that man isn’t generous

I tend to hide when unwell. I prefer the sanctuary of my bed, even with unfluffed pillows. Tea is required. This is medically endorsed. Every time I woke up post-surgery in a High Dependency Unit the highly trained nursing staff wasted no time in getting tea down my throat. After the safe delivery of both children, the tea landed strong and sweet, and any mother will tell you it’s the best cup of tea you will ever drink.

A cat is helpful. Gertie is always delighted when there’s a human in bed. It’s an excuse for a lounge and a bit of a tickle. Wet noses may be shoved sympathetically in ears. Just to clarify, cat’s nose, my ear. There has been sneezing, but it’s a sort of gentle “tishoo” and I like to think my cough sounds like the consumptive Mimi delicately carking it in La Boheme. Mind you, the only occasion I actually saw that opera on stage, the soprano was built like a prop forward and had the lung capacity of a charging rhino.

Ah, it seems he did pay attention to the promises all those years ago. He’s just brought more tea. And a KitKat. Things are looking up.