My prescription for surviving the winter

Winter is finally upon us and I’m relying on my usual array of tablets and powders to ward off seasonal viruses. Caroline and the children constantly ridicule me, saying I’ve been taken for a fool by snake-oil salesmen, but I tell myself these concoctions are responsible for my robust good health. I’ve tested positive for Covid twice and usually get two or three colds a year. But I haven’t taken a day off due to illness since 1987.

My basic daily intake consists of a multi-vitamin tablet, 1,000iu of vitamin E, 1,000µg of vitamin B12 and 4,000iu of vitamin D3, all washed down with 1,000mg of vitamin C. Since developing tennis elbow – I don’t play tennis, so God knows how – I’ve added a turmeric tablet to strengthen my joints and because I love the spicy taste I now include a ginger shot, which supposedly boosts your immune system. I usually finish off with some psyllium husk powder.

‘Have you ever calculated how much all this rubbish costs?’ asked Caroline this week. ‘If you stopped taking your quote unquote medicine we could probably afford a house in the country.’

I don’t think that’s quite true, but this daily regimen certainly isn’t cheap. The vitamin E, for instance, costs £18.99 for 100 capsules. And unbeknownst to Caroline, I sometimes take everything twice. I find myself unable to remember whether I’ve swallowed my pills or not so I take them all again just to be sure. I know when I’ve double-dosed because my urine turns bright orange. It won’t be long before I’m reduced to a plastic pill box with separate compartments for each day of the week.

Needless to say, when it comes to the potions and lotions favoured by the rest of the family, my natural scepticism returns. For instance, I tell my three teenage sons that the expensive shampoo and conditioner they use is a complete waste of money, and when I see my 19-year-old daughter in a -Kiehl’s face mask I assure her she’s been ‘conned’ and then spend ten minutes trying to find evidence on Google that face masks don’t work. But they just laugh dismissively. I might have more credibility if I didn’t spend £24 a week on ginger shots.

Why is it that my BS detector seems to develop a fault when it comes to my own health? Is it because I’m so anxious about catching something that I’m willing to suspend disbelief when it comes to the boasts of vitamin salesmen?

Whenever I tell Caroline I think I’m coming down with something, which is every couple of days, she reminds me I haven’t been properly ill for 35 years. I’m both a terrible hypochondriac and someone who appears to be blessed with super-human health, which is an odd combination. Or perhaps it isn’t that odd. Hypochondriacs are, by definition, healthy, so only those who are never ill can ever hope to become world-class health neurotics.

I think the real reason I never get sick is because I was a free-range kid. That is, my parents took very little interest in me when I was growing up, leaving me almost entirely to my own devices, which meant running wild on the streets of London from the age of about five. There was never much food in the house – both my mother and father ate little – and I was rarely given a sandwich or lunch money before setting off on the two-mile walk to school, so I happily picked half-eaten pasties out of rubbish bins and plucked chicken bones off the pavement. Baths were almost entirely unknown.

Turns out that this neglect, which these days would result in social services being called, was the best possible gift my parents could have given me. By the time I reached the age of 16, I’d been exposed to a biolab full of viruses and bacteria, equipping me with an armour-plated immune system. Admittedly, I couldn’t spell or add up and I failed all my O-levels. I also had a permanent case of nits. But I was destined to live the next 43 years of my life almost entirely free from illness. To this day, the only time I’ve spent a night in hospital is when I got knocked off my bike by a hit-and-run driver.

Just writing that fills me with superstitious dread. Superhuman health?!? What hubris! By the time this is published, I’ll probably have been rushed to hospital with a massive heart attack. But to ward off that demon, I’ll continue taking the vitamins and the ginger shots and the psyllium husks. Think of the hundreds of pounds I fork out every year on this snake oil as my alms for oblivion.