It still remains top of the charts for The Most Fucking Awful Illness I've Ever Had. I was 23 when I got it, and on the morning in question I felt full of energy. One of the paperboys at the shop I was managing hadn't turned up so I went out and delivered the round myself, actually running the entire way round. When I got back there was a crisps-and-snacks rep waiting to see me, and as I listened to him droning on and on in the office I began to feel really tired. Once I'd seen him off, I announced to my deputy manager that I was going up into the stockroom to get some sleep, and that I'd come down later in the afternoon to take the takings to the bank for him. By the time I woke up, my throat was raging and my head was pounding, all topped off with a lethargy to end all lethargies.
My girlfriend's mum worked in the GiroBank (that dates it) and when she saw me, she said, "My goodness, Adrian, you look so white; are you okay?" By the time I got back to the store, my girlfriend was waiting in the office for me and she took one look at me before saying, "Doctor's, now!" and frogmarched me off. My GP took one look at me and said, "You are not going into work for at least a week; here, have a blood test." The blood test came back that I'd got glandular fever, but by that time I was already feeling better, in that I'd just spent the worst weekend of my life where I discovered what it was like to be too weak to lift even a soup-spoon, and also had been in so much pain that I said to Annie that given the option, I'd take death right now!
For the record, the day I wanted to die was the same day that we started the season with a 3-0 win at West Brom in 1989, so it must have been painful indeed.
For the record for the record, I also tend to think we underuse Brookseh, but I temper my thoughts with memories of how shit my own feverish glandularity experience had been.