First of all, I apologise for contributing even more column inches about the widely-recognised affliction dubbed ‘man flu’.

I’m sorry – but I have been in such a unique position over the past week or so, that my offerings (which I have forwarded to The Lancet for immediate publication) simply have to be heard.

For three days I was laid low with a fever. My husband and children waited on me when they could, and I recovered. However, one side-effect was that my husband caught the same thing – only it wasn’t the same, it was the male equivalent – the infamous ‘man flu’.

Despite being the same ailment, there are some acute differences between these conditions when suffered by men and women. Based on my own observations, I have noted the contrasting symptoms as suffered by me and my husband: l How we described our illness to each other: Me: “I haven’t had such a terrible cold for a long time.”

Him: “I think this is much more than a cold, it could be tuberculosis.”

l How we reacted to offers of help from each other – medication/soup/drinks, etc: Me: “Yes, please, that will build up my strength.”

Him: “No, no, no, don’t bring food near me, I can’t eat anything, I can’t raise my head, I can’t even sip water.”

l Most irritating statement uttered (at least ten times) during illness: Me: “What can’t you take together – ibuprofen and paracetamol or Ibuprofen and aspirin?”

Him: “My temperature is two degrees higher than yours was – if it goes up any further I could die.”

l Worst ‘feel sorry for me, I’m really ill’ statement: Me: “I feel really rotten, I haven’t been downstairs at all today.”

Him: (Uttered in pitiful voice at 4pm on day of blizzard, after lying all day close to snow-lashed window) “Has it snowed today?”

l State of the bedroom while the illness was at its height: Me: A couple of used mugs and a soup bowl beside the bed, some discarded magazines on the floor, but otherwise much the same.

Him: Sheets and blankets twisted into freakish shapes, half the contents of Superdrug on the floor, enveloped by a stench similar to that of a rotting corpse.

l Most irritating statement while on the mend: Me: “Please can I have a new hot water bottle – the cat’s on mine.”

Him: “After this I might write my autobiography – Two Degrees From Death.”

My husband isn’t often ill, but when he is, it’s like having the Grim Reaper in residence. It scares me to think what would happen if he ever got a proper illness.