Andrew;s cold

The story of Andrew's cold.
We so rarely get infectious diseases while cruising that the cold we caught in Cuba, the first since leaving England two years before, came as something of a shock…
It was the day of Andrew’s cold. As he lay on his bunk in Sentinel, he realised the end could not be far away. A weaker constitution than his could scarcely have resisted a fever which, regularly monitored, had risen as much as half a degree over normal that morning. Even Beecham’s Pills no longer offered relief. He was, as he explained several times to Lyn, suffering in silence, yet even she could hardly fail to notice the sneezes that from time to time wracked his frame. Her own cold of the previous day was dismissed as trivial by comparison. Towards mid afternoon Andrew rallied briefly, sufficient to down several stiff medicinal whisky-and-gingers. Shortly after, his mind began to wander.		"There is a happy land, far, far away. Where saints in glory stand, bright, bright as day."
“I must settle my affairs,” he said to Lyn. “Summon my friends and relations.” They gathered around his bunk-side. “This is my last will and testament,” Andrew began in a faint voice. “The whole of my estate, including my yachts, sports cars, and enormous fortune, I leave to Hoppy, my pet cockroach, who lives behind the galley cooker. That is all.” Andrew’s eyes closed and his head fell back on the pillow, a beatific smile playing about his lips. The friends and relations flitted wraithlike away, as mysteriously as they had arrived. His breathing could now scarcely be heard, but when Lyn leant really close, there was just the merest suggestion of a snore.

The story of Andrew's cold.

We so rarely get infectious diseases while cruising that the cold we caught in Cuba, the first since leaving England two years before, came as something of a shock…

It was the day of Andrew’s cold. As he lay on his bunk in Sentinel, he realised the end could not be far away. A weaker constitution than his could scarcely have resisted a fever which, regularly monitored, had risen as much as half a degree over normal that morning. Even Beecham’s Pills no longer offered relief. He was, as he explained several times to Lyn, suffering in silence, yet even she could hardly fail to notice the sneezes that from time to time wracked his frame. Her own cold of the previous day was dismissed as trivial by comparison.

Towards mid afternoon Andrew rallied briefly, sufficient to down several stiff medicinal whisky-and-gingers. Shortly after, his mind began to wander.

Sunset
"There is a happy land, far, far away.
Where saints in glory stand, bright, bright as day."

“I must settle my affairs,” he said to Lyn. “Summon my friends and relations.”

They gathered around his bunk-side. “This is my last will and testament,” Andrew began in a faint voice. “The whole of my estate, including my yachts, sports cars, and enormous fortune, I leave to Hoppy, my pet cockroach, who lives behind the galley cooker. That is all.”

Andrew’s eyes closed and his head fell back on the pillow, a beatific smile playing about his lips. The friends and relations flitted wraithlike away, as mysteriously as they had arrived. His breathing could now scarcely be heard, but when Lyn leant really close, there was just the merest suggestion of a snore.

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