Surrounded by health care professionals
these recent months, I’m amazed by their total lack of compassion for a head
cold, and certainly they have no time for self pity or ‘milking it’ to get
extra biscuits from the treats box.
“Stick Vick on it” barked a specialist
nursing sister. “Give your chest a good rub.”
And so I found myself rooting around in the
medicine cupboard of our Orwellian kitchen for a familiar tub of medicinal grease. Unfortunately, once I’d scraped the dust off
the packaging, I spied the sell by date as 1995 and headed off to Boots. It worked a treat and by Twelfth Night I’d
recovered my strength, feeling well enough to engage in boxing up the trimmings
and to entertain myself with my battery-powered TARDIS biscuit barrel.
Deconstructing from the top, I started with
the baubles and after a quick flick with a feather duster [chicken not raven],
I nestled their ancient glass ornaments back into the box. With a wry smile, I imagined myself as a
Dress Size 8 again, back in the 1980s when I acquired three miniature Santas
from Habitat; they’re sturdy little fellas and will probably outlive the two
white bookcases and director’s chair acquired at the same time. Now they share space with three fuchsia
angels from Tesco, and a padded house made out of Dr Who’s jacket.
You’d also be right to assume our tree is
black but that’s so wrong on every level; it’s green. Laughingly described as a ‘Swiss Fir’ on the
box, the people who manufactured it had only ever seen pictures of conifers and
to give it a touch of authenticity this year I’ve been burning a Yankie Spiced
Xmas Wreath & Poisoned Apple scented candle, guaranteed to repel all
wildlife for a good 10 metres in all directions. As I dumped the waxy remains, a vague memory
surfaced from the 1960s of when Mum let me clip real candles in holders to the
tree but never let actually light them.
Wonder why?
My ancient fairy lights were down to 50% of their twinkle capacity and
merely strangled the tree rather than illuminating it, so had to be disposed of
along with the box of tricks and pulsating light show which gave Alphonse a
headache if he stared at them long enough.
And finally, the last trinket in the box is always the Holographic Drum
– a stark reminder that it’s my birthday soon and maybe this year I will have
those drumming lessons I’ve been promising myself since having a crush on
Stewart Copeland of The Police … remember them? You never know, if Plan A
fails, I can always accompany Alphonse outside M&S for a bit of pocket
money because it may be the only way to afford a new settee.
Other than to replace the awful sofa we
have at the moment, there’s one resolution this year. I had choices of course:
Be a better raven? Difficult.
Spend less, save more perhaps? Even
more difficult.
Find a fragrance that doesn’t smell like a
swamp? Sorted – YSL Parisienne.
Run a marathon? Not
with my knees.
Winner by a mile and my resolution for 2013
“MAKE
THIS YEAR COUNT FOR SOMETHING.” I’ll
keep you posted on progress.
Tip of the Blog: Have you seen the BBC2 documentary about
polar bears this week? Some devious producer
had locked Gordon Buchannan into a fortified glass/steel box while an 8ft
female bear attempted to break in and eat him?
Frankly, I was cheering for the bear hoping she would get her teeth into
somewhere tender because he spends more time on camera than any of his
subjects, and it’s 8loody irritating.
Thankfully, the real stars of the show were Lyra’s two snoring cubs;
perhaps they needed a bit of Vicks Vapour Rub to clear their little noses …
ahhh.
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