Kevin Myers: Race for Aras is leaving a bad taste in my mouth
As autumn fell, little outbreaks of illness were erupting, strange mini-plagues that seemed gratifyingly localised, yet nonetheless troubling. I walked into a shop, and three customers went grey and fainted.
A lunch gathering ended early with a brief stampede towards the exit. The priest hearing my confession whinnied and slid unconscious from his side of the box. As Queen Elizabeth muttered the words "Arise Sir Ke ... " , she grimaced, and keeled over silently on to her sword. A grand gel; died uncomplaining. And strangely enough, I haven't even been invited to the funeral.
As it happens, my wife was suffering from an autumnal cold during this time, and had no explanation for these phenomena. Until the cold finally passed, and then she reeled in horror: "Your breath! It's terrible!"