When I was a student, living in Avignon in the south of France, I remember waking up one morning shortly before Christmas, feeling shivery and as if someone had spent the night sandpapering my throat.
After a couple of days of wheezing and coughing, I took myself to the doctor and explained that I was feeling a bit ropey.
One hour later I had been diagnosed with a severe lung infection, mild asthma and had in my hand a prescription for six different types of medicine, an appointment at the local hospital's radiology department and an emergency referral to a specialist in pulmonary disease.
The next day I flew home to the UK for the Christmas holidays where my worried parents persuaded me to visit their local GP for a second opinion.
After five minutes in his consulting room, I emerged empty-handed but with a new diagnosis. I had… a cold.
