THERE seems to be some sort of pattern to what I write in this column.

It's as though everything I wish for somehow comes true within a few weeks.

But although this may sound like a fairy tale, it is far from it. This is not Brothers Grimm. It's just grim, brother.

Take the time I moaned about my distinct lack of friends. On the very day I was feeling sorry for myself for having none, my two best friends from Sunny Rochdale both dropped by, completely independent of each other. Five hours later, my tidy home was a mess and I had fallen out with the neighbours.

And it's happened again.

Only a matter of weeks ago, I was cursing the fact that most illnesses pass me by. I have never had flu for example, and so have never had the pleasure of spending a week in bed on the sick. And I was wishing for the so-called Winter Flu Bug to take hold, like it had with some 60,000 other Britons.

Well now it has. And it's awful.

Looking back, it was nothing more than false bravado that made me write those things. "I wish I was ill," I crowed. "Then I can have a day off without feeling guilty."

But it is not until you are ill that you actually realise the consequences of those words.

As I sit and write this, weakened from my illness. I'm much better than I was 24 hours ago, yet my head still aches and food is definitely not on the menu. And my eyes are red and have sunk into my white skull. I may be off work, but the sense of satisfaction I had so anticipated, has not materialised.

It is not as if I can actually do anything with my day off. I tried to negotiate a couple of games of PlayStation, but the intense flashing lights and noise tore into my head.

After a minute of driving round aimlessly in a virtual world, I turned it off and assumed ill position -- I lay down in bed. And I certainly can't go out. The very idea of even getting dressed is too much of an effort, and I wouldn't like to be too far away from my house.

There's something very comforting about your home when you're ill, and I'm loath to leave it at this point.

But the main reason I wish I hadn't wished for this sickness is because I simply don't like being ill. I'm not very good at it. At the first sign of a foreign body invading my self, I collapse into a pathetic heap.

Fortunately the worst is over for me, but the scars of the peak of the battle are still fresh. I remember all too well, wishing for a quick death, as I was sick for the fifth time, begging for mercy. I'm convinced I got it from my two nephews.

Big Sis brought the Mite and The Nephew Formerly Known as Golden Boy (TNFKGB) to see me at the weekend, and although there was no indication then, the bug was already beginning to manifest.

The day after, both the kiddies showed signs of illness. Two days later they were in the full throes of sickness. Big Sis succumbed soon after as did my Mother Dearest. I took a while longer before I fell, and the Long Suffering Marjorie longer still.

As I sit and write this, with my feet about to take the first steps on the road to recovery, the LSM is looking decidedly green about the gills.

She has started to mention headaches and crippling stomach pains, and it won't be long now before it takes a complete hold. It is not the best gift I have given someone for Valentine's Day, but it's truly the most original.

Beats a box of chocolates!