My usual Edinburgh Fringe cold is back creating a Porton Down bacteria farm beneath my bahookie – Susan Morrison

Facebook helpfully reminded me that I battled ferocious colds during the last week of the Fringes of 2017, 2018 and 2019.

What is it about Edinburgh Festival Fringe and the cold virus? (Picture: George Marks/Retrofile/Getty Images)

Of course, in 2020, I went for cancer instead but the rest of the world plumped for Covid and cancelled the Fringe, so that all worked out in the end.

Now we are back in business, and so is my natural cycle of “Fringe, is it? Then I must have a cold.”

In the interests of public safety, I tested, lest our old friend Covid had decided to make a Fringe debut. Negative.

I donned a mask whilst on the bus. However, being masked when your sinuses are more blocked up than the drains of a fleeing dictator who has been shredding and flushing dodgy evidence is not a comfortable experience – either for me, or my fellow passengers.

I’d like to apologise to everyone on the Number 10 from Leith. The noise was unbelievable. I could see people taking a sneaky peek about, clearly worried that a particularly snorfly walrus was aboard.

I’ve shifted a small rainforest of paper hankies. To show solidarity with the bin workers, I’ve been keeping my litter to a minimum. No chucking away used tissues. Instead, I’ve taken to storing them up in the back pockets of my jeans.

My rear end, already spacious, has expanded considerably and taken on an alarmingly lumpy appearance. I know this, because sitting has become a uncomfortable, given that I am essentially parking my bahookie on a kind of Porton Down bacteria farm where my discarded tissues are stewing up some sort of biological weapon.

My pockets all filled up so I fell back briefly on the time-honoured method of shoving the hanky up the sleeve. That gave me forearms like the Hulk and it’s not the solution it once was. Paper hankies, y’see.

A good old-fashioned cotton hanky could stay lodged up an Arran knitted cardi for months. Years, possibly. But yer paper? No chance. You start shedding them, leaving trails of bug-soaked tissue in your wake.

Ah well, the last weekend looms. Pass the Lemsip.