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Lemsip vs Whiskey

11/01/2012

Today I travelled to five or six years ago because that’s about how long I’ve known all the customers that I saw today. All elderly, I looked at them and saw folks much more elderly than the ones that I met back in the early days of my life as a foot health practitioner bloke. Doris, Sue, Annie, Ted, Joan, another Joan, Cath, Margaret, Evelyn and another Margaret. Even Maisie the dog seemed that much older and that much more weary. If this has happened to them then, during the same timeframe, the same must have happened to me.

At the moment I’m getting over a cold. I feel more or less better except for the residual Advocaatesque deposits in my nasal passages and the odd moment of clamminess. I don’t cope very well with colds. This wasn’t a bad one but I still hated every minute of it and, no matter what anybody says or does, there is no way to get rid of a cold other than to be patient and just literally sweat it out.

This is why I get so pissed off with the people who manufacture stuff like Lemsip. I paid £5.99 for a box of the wretched stuff on Saturday and for all the good it did me I might as well have bought a box of Tampax and shoved one up each nostril. It may not have made me feel better but at least I’d have been able to go horse riding, swimming and waterskiing.

But Lemsip, I ask you? I took all twenty four capsules at precisely the moments that they suggested on the box and I still felt like a pile of cat poo. Though, because of the ingredients, I probably tasted more of lemon than of fish. I can’t understand how they get away with it. Lemsip even has a Facebook page. I wonder how many friends it has. I wonder how many people ‘like’ it. I wonder how many people have even bothered to read it. I haven’t, of course. I only noticed it was there because it happens to be a mutual friend of Anusol.

I reckon that pharmacists should say, “Mmmh, Lemsip only works if there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you in the first place. Have you tried whiskey?” It’s probably very bad of me to say this, and some people use the term ‘medicinal purposes’ as an excuse to have a wee nip at any old time of any old day, but I firmly believe that, when the deluge of the runniest of all mucuses (muci) from my nasal organ is surpassed only by the perspiration from my febrile pores, a couple of stiff whiskies (with none of your poncy ‘hot toddy’ girly additives) is the only thing that can make me feel any better at all.

Due to a weekend of constant dribbling and blowing of the nose, my lips were really sore on Monday morning when I tried to shave. Determined not to make them even more tender with the razor, I approached them very tentatively, and then sliced a huge chunk out of my nostril which bled like a pig on Warfarin. Not being an after shave sort of bloke, the only astringent I had available to stem the flow was whiskey . . . to my rescue once again!

Also, when I’m feeling ropey and my taste buds are being a bit apathetic, I find it’s worthwhile to drink the cheap, rough whiskey which also cleans your teeth without you having to use a toothbrush which may have pressed on your sore, cracked lips and hurt them even more.

My second biggest disappointment about having a cold is that I, unlike most people, don’t lose my appetite when I’m under the weather. It fair pisses me off when I hear, “Oooh, I’ve lost so much weight because I’ve been ill.” This just doesn’t happen for me. In fact it makes me hungry. Sometimes so hungry that I could eat a box of snotty used Kleenex all to myself. All illnesses make me hungry . . . from invasive brain surgery to a paper cut. If I could become a bit lean and mean while I’m suffering it would be all worthwhile but it just never happens for me.

But my biggest disappointment about having a cold is that it makes me feel old and fat and lethargic and totally different to the outdoor loving me that I really want to be.

Tomorrow I’ll be even more better so tomorrow the countdown to my huge forthcoming adventure in Peru begins (again) which means healthy food, lots of exercise and sadly . . . no whiskey.

 

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