'Mild symptoms' sounds all rather nice doesn't it? Perhaps a light headache, or tickly cough. But the reality of catching a dose of Covid-19 is far from pleasant.

I'd rather smugly thought that by rarely going out, wearing a decent mask and washing my hands so frequently my hands had aged by about 20 years over the last 10 months, would ensure I'd avoid catching the virus.

After all, in truth, the only person I had known to catch Covid was a friend in London back in the first wave - back when the capital was the nation's hotspot.

But the truth is, however strong your line of defence, coronavirus doesn't much care and can find a way through.

So when the first classic symptoms started to develop - a temperature and a cough - I feared the worst.

After driving to my local testing site, I sat in the car and retched quietly to myself as I attempted to daub the bits at the back of my throat with the swab - a rather undignified experience. With eyes watering, I finished this fun little outing by sticking the said same swab up my nose "until you feel some resistance" (probably my brain) and twirled it about.

After a fella took my sealed up sample with one of those grabber things normally used to pick up rubbish without the need to bend down, I returned home to wait my verdict feeling quietly confident that I was about to become a statistic.

Around 36-hours later, my phone pinged to tell me I was positive.

It was a rather sobering moment. My journalistic blood was intrigued to be able to see just what the illness I'd written about so many times was actually like. My survival instincts, on the other hand, were not so enthused.

By this point, I was already spending most of the day in bed, alternating between feeling like I was in a sauna one moment and as if Jack Frost himself was running his icy fingers over me the next.

The only variation in my day came when one of the track and trace calls arrived. Now, I know they are trying to do a good job but I cannot quite explain how much I came to loathe their regular calls. While some voices on the other end of the line seemed to be attached to people with a brain equipped with a sense of empathy, many seemed not to.

Too many were just reading off their list, with no regard for the answers. When they started telling me I needed a routine to help with being isolated, I pointed out I was feeling awful and was spending the day in bed, so a routine was a little difficult to develop. 'Many people think about starting a hobby,' said one in response. It was almost too surreal to continue the conversation at that point. Should I ask whether a hobby was feeling sorry for myself? Who knows.

But the symptoms continued for several days, with no let up. After a week passed and feeling absolutely no better, I turned to Dr Google. What more reliable source of health advice is there? Ahem.

Just exactly what are 'mild symptoms' I wondered? Is this what I had? They certainly didn't feel very 'mild'.

The truth is that having Covid feels mightily similar to having the flu.

And for everyone who has had the flu before - as opposed to a bad cold which many seem to attach the phrase 'flu' to - it's a pretty miserable existence. 'Mild' my backside.

You ache, you sweat, you freeze, your head throbs, your throat hurts and just when you think a good night's sleep will bring you eight hours of uninterrupted bliss, your fluctuating temperature means you have a night of vivid, weird dreams which wake you up with a regularity to ensure you never feel refreshed or improved.

Under any normal circumstances, 'mild symptoms' sounds like a stroll in the park. But they're described as 'mild' as if they were worse you would be struggling to breathe, heading to hospital and in a very serious way.

On reflection, I was prepared to embrace the 'mild' understatement and hope I stayed in that category.

The trouble is, as you lay in bed feeling sorry for yourself you tune into the news and are reminded that what you have has already killed tens of thousands of men and women. By the time I was factoring in I was on the shielded list courtesy of an underlying health condition, and fast approaching 50, it was easy to get a little apprehensive. And if there is one thing you need to help aid recovery, it is surely positive thought.

Especially, after more than a week of feeling poorly, I started to notice regular coughing fits were leaving me struggling to get my breath back. That unnerved me, I must admit. But, after calling NHS 111 just to check I shouldn't be concerned, I got a call back within moments from a GP who spent a lot of time discussing my symptoms. She even put up with me coughing and spluttering down the phone every few moments. I cannot imagine how irritating that must have been for her; it was driving me mad.

In short, she put my mind at ease. Which, at that stage, was the perfect medicine. I'd read so much about how it was two weeks after catching the virus was the point where you either got better or deteriorated that I needed someone with a medical background to say I was still very much in the 'mild' symptoms and as I wasn't getting worse, chances are things would pick up soon.

And that they did.

It's been almost three weeks now since getting the virus and my temperature has returned to normal. I still feel shattered every evening, and my concentration has really taken a knock - but it's improving every day. Yes, I've still got an annoying cough, but even that is getting better (touch wood).

In short, you really don't want to catch Covid if you can help it. It really can make you feel miserable and you constantly have the dread of what may lurk just around the corner if you don't get any better - which isn't good for the soul.

The overwhelming thing, however, is that it reminds you just how wonderful good health is. How we take for granted feeling fine.

The moment the Covid fog starts to lift really is one of revelation - a well-timed shot in the arm that life and our well-being is so very precious.

Trust me, if you're getting a little blasé about wearing a mask or washing your hands, don't. You really don't want two weeks of feeling appalling - especially not just before Christmas.

Now, after emerging from isolation, I'm off to get my flu jab - the thought of catching that too this year is too miserable to comprehend.

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