Girl Friday: Swine flu or just a cold?

Question – what's the difference between a summer cold and swine flu? Answer – no one seems to know.

Feeling feverish and achy with a head full of gunk and what felt like a throat lined with sandpaper, I dragged my laptop into my tissue-strewn sickbed, typed "swine flu" into Google and found the Government's online assessment questionnaire which you fill in to see if you have it.

It asks you for your name, address and date of birth – presumably to stop people falsely claiming truckloads of Tamiflu and then flogging it to the panicking masses, but in my weakened state I wondered whether this was so they knew where to send the ambulance in case I conked out before completing the online form.

Lots of the questions have nothing to do with swine flu and are quite rightly designed to direct anyone suffering from something different and sinister (like meningitis) to seek urgent medical help.

But the swine flu questions were very general: "Does the patient have a high temperature and at least two of the following symptoms: widespread muscle and joint aches, a cough, headache, blocked or runny nose, sore throat, vomiting, watery diarrhoea, cannot stop crying (only children)?"

Err, yes, I thought, I've got five of those. But then, I've had those same five every time I've had a nasty cold or flu.

I mouse-clicked on boxes to say I hadn't had these symptoms for more than seven days, no I'm not pregnant or HIV positive, etc, and finally got to the "result" screen.

I was expecting "yes you've got swine flu" or "no you haven't" , but instead it said "an antiviral treatment course is authorised", gave me details of how to pick it up and advised me to "stay at home and rest, drink plenty of fluids and take over-the-counter pain relief which is good for a fever".

So did that mean I had swine flu or not? Should I quarantine myself, or if I didn't have swine flu and it was just a cold, would I be missing out on friendly company that might cheer me up and bring me vital supplies?

While I was pondering this, my intercom buzzed. "I've got a parcel that needs a signature, my love," said the cheery postie.

What to do? After faffing sweatily for a few moments, I rubbed my hands with antibacterial jollop, flung on my hooded bathrobe, plodded downstairs and opened the door, pulling the hood forward to cover my mouth and nose. This strange sight meant I didn't have to worry about the postie getting too close – he handed me at arm's length the parcel and that electronic device you have to sign with a fake plastic pen.

Back on my sickbed, the more I thought about it, the more it felt like just a summer cold. So if this isn't swine flu, I thought, and I take my antiviral tablets, what if I get the real swine flu in a few weeks? Will I have used up my quota of medication? Will anyone believe me or will they think I'm a would-be Tamiflu tout intending to flog the pills for profit?

I had to go to the chemist and stock up eventually, but I covered my mouth and nose with a scarf (which made me look like I was about to rob the joint).

On the way home, I was stopped in the street by one of those tabarded, guilt-tripping "chuggers" (a "charity mugger" who harangues people in the street for donations).

He said: "Hey good lookin'! The name's Jez – stop, sweet thing, don't walk away. You look like a girl with a big, generous heart, so I know you'll want to sign up to our latest appeal..."

For once, I had the perfect reply.

"I think I might have swine flu."

And, in a flash, he was gone.