Ill behaviour

The human body is a pathetic thing. At least mine is.
I've been off work ill for the last three days as some invisible fiend has been piping foul catarrh into every orifice in my head before wrapping it in hot foil so it bakes like an over-stuffed potato.
Did this sort of stuff happen in prehistoric times? Surely early cavemen couldn't rely on their cavemates to nip down to the Spar and pick up some Lucozade and a tub of Ben and Jerrys?
I couldn't even handle sitting on a chair in front of my computer in my weakened state and I can't imagine having to hunt woolly mammoths across the frozen plains or tussle with Raquel Welch (okay I could probably muster the strength for the latter, but it might seriously hinder my recuperation).
This all makes me feel rather lucky to be a 21st Century man (formerly 20th Century boy), as I feel in the days of natural selection I would have been ambushed by a hungry sabre toothed tiger while I lay in a fever on my cave floor watching Jeremy Kyle.
I'm not sure if there's much of a point to all this, except for me to maybe indulge in a bit of traditional whingeing about my sickness, but I'm back now and keen to get the website updated, so on with the show...