I may have mentioned in one of these past posts that I have a cold. Or rather, had a cold, it has now developed into a humourless hacking cough. I may also have mentioned (in more subtle tones) my ongoing love affair with Julian Barnes. I suppose it could be described as inevitably tragic as eventually I know I will be left wanting more, but soon the last page will have been turned. So you may be wandering what colds and Julian Barnes have in common. Well, as the narrator described the feeling of losing his virginity: ‘And why didn’t they tell you about the football fan in the back of your skull, the man with the rattle and the scarf who shouts Yippee and stamps his feet on the terraces?’ I began laughing so hard that I nearly phlegmed up on the rather dishy passenger who had got on an empty carriage and smiled and sat next to ME, who I was discretely pretending not to eye up.