You know that cousin of Daves? The Townie bloke who lived with his mum until he was 47 then married that woman from the County Council and bought a 10 acre lifestyle block? You know how he is when he gets a cold? Well a bloke ISN'T like that when he gets crook.

A REAL Bloke does NOT whine when he's crook. He takes it like a man. He does NOT go to the doctor for a flu shot every year like a bloody nancy. He does NOT carry a nicely pressed hanky around with him - He blows his nose on his hand and wipes it on his pants, just like his dad did. Unless of course he's out to dinner with the handbrake's workmates, in which case he sneakily blows his nose on his hand then wipes it off when he pats one of the handbrake's co-workers on the back to congratulate him for shifting a record number of papers around his desk last week.

Let's just say that again: A BLOKE DOES NOT WHINE WHEN HE'S CROOK! He doesn't sniffle to his mates that he'd rather be dead (especially if they're out possum shooting at the time - because a hint's a hint.) He doesn't constantly rabbit on about how he's never felt this crook, how he thinks that this is how his grandad went (even though everyone knows he fell out of the second story of the pub at his 80th birthday party)

A bloke just puts up with it.

Say he's doing a bit of work with the chainsaw (thinning out the stand of trees at the back of the farm, slicing up steaks for the barby or slapping a hole in the bedroom wall as a birthday surprise for the handbrake - who's always wanted an en-suite) and he slips and gives himself a little nick and takes off a toe or a foot or something. The *LAST* thing he's going to do is blubber to the handbrake till she packs him off to hospital.
No.
Nope, he'll chuck the missing appendage in a bag of ice, along with a couple of tinnies in case there's a queue at the emergency place, and drive himself there, telling the Mrs that he'll finish the job tomorrow morning.

A bloke doesn't have a bathroom cabinet full of pills and potions to stave off illness, because he doesn't NEED to. Years of questionable hygene has given the average bloke's immune system the internal fortitude of a concrete crapper. In a bloke's bathroom cabinet you will find the three 'B's: Bog rolls, Brylcreem and Brut 33. And the Brylcreem's not even his - his Dad left it there 20 years ago and as he doesn't need the space it's stayed there, trapping flies.
When a bloke's handbrake moves in, however, it's a whole different ballgame, which is why Blokes often end up having their own bog.