25 November 2004

A blow by blow account

OK well, given that this seems to be turning into some sort of not-so-personal diary I should explain that I am writing this in the middle of a good old fashioned British cold. I say 'cold', but then not being male I accept that I am hormonally challenged and that this causes me to labour under certain misconceptions; I do appreciate that testosterone levels have a direct bearing on ones ability to experience or distinguish 'flu' and to run off to bed with a teddy bear and a bell for room service.
Whatever it is this suffering could turn out to be a good thing, as with the weather totally upside down and doing its own thing it may mean I am to be spared another UK tradition - the Christmas Day Flu, the one where, as mum, you end up trying to stuff a turkey and stir vegetables from as great a distance as possible whilst trying to only breath over your left shoulder, or alternatively looking like something out of a Black Adder episode, with frequently changed and secretly inserted clumps of cotton wool / loo roll / cat hair wedged up your nose. Joke, (well only the cat hair).
Over the last two weeks I have progressed through the 'just let me push my forehead into your doorframe and apply pressure to the back of my head, so I can sort of cough without exploding' sinus head and the 'its amazing but you CAN sleep face down with your head hanging over the edge of the bed' streaming bit, to the 'who shoved a pound of sherbert up my nose and why do I look like Quasimodo?' stage.
Trust the flipping sun to be shining, too. I ought to be amazed and full of joy that the weather has allowed roses to continue to bloom in November, moreso as I live on a hill by the sea where all signs of life start later and finish earlier than they do even at the bottom of the slope, due to the gusting salty winds which can have you looking like a fisherman's friend before you can say 'Ooh Arr'. Thats my excuse anyhow, and I'm sticking to it.
Sunshine and sherbert sinuses do NOT go together, one tiny golden ray hitting your skin seems to inspire a cataclysmic reaction, as if one whole side of the face frantically tries to bunch itself up and run for cover inside the eye socket until the offending light is removed; its very painful. 100 Watt bulbs dont do this, only sunshine and annoyingly it works irrespective of the state of your windows; dust, dirt, nicotine and the most over indulgent swathes of net curtain have no filtering effect whatsoever, sadly removing any excuse for putting up with such otherwise offensive decor. Maybe I should try mud.
Right, I am off to tot up the end-of-the-month spare cash and see if I can afford to behave like royalty and send a taxi to collect the children from school this afternoon, then I am going to say 'stuff it' to the housework and do the male (aka sensible?) thing and find a darkened room. Please God, may I not come back to this post in a week or so and decide that I should have just done that in the first place.
Good 'ere, innit.

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