I have sinusitis. I feel like I’ve gone three rounds with an eniment Hollywood plastic surgeon without the joy of crow free eyes and my very own trout pout.
It is making me cross and a teeny bit crazy.
I sat in Tesco’s car park yesterday reading a poetry
And it is all because I have never learned to blow my nose properly. No really. I am thirty five and I can’t blow my nose because I fear my eyeballs will fall out. So I sniff in an uncouth manner, shove lengths of kitchen roll up my sleeve like I plan on using it and inflict upon myself a million red hot pokers in my cheekbones and teeth that feel like I could spit them out with my toothpaste.
But enough already. Today I have recovered the teeniest degree of sanity. It is raining for the first time in about ten years and on my baby tomatoes behalf I am thrilled. After two weeks of running about doing goodness knows what, we are at last, staying in. Snuggled up in blankets with a tray of child size treats between us (Cubes of red cheese, Pom bears, cherry tomatoes, bite sized chocolate macaroons, and more scrumptious strawberry juice ) and Finley, bless his little snub nose, has agreed to teach me how to use a hankerchief…