Lauren Bravo: From patient to matron...
MY BOYFRIEND is ill. Everything smells of Olbas Oil. There is a trail of tissues running through the flat like a germy version of Hansel and Gretel, and at the end of it, instead of a gingerbread house, there is a bearded 28-year-old whimpering under a blanket.
Naturally, we like to avoid gender stereotypes wherever possible, and so we will just say he has... ‘hyperbolic flu’.
The kind that renders you unable speak in any voice except that of a cartoon vole. Still, he’s a grateful cartoon vole. “Taaank-oo,” he snuffled when I made him his third Berocca of the day.
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