Monday, June 04, 2012

Up your nose

I've been getting lots of spots lately, which I blame on the humid weather, or my poor diet, or stress, or not washing my face properly. To sort this out, I got some very expensive unguent and spread it over my face.

Then I made the mistake of breathing. Why do I always do that?

Immediately, cleanser went up my nostrils and began to attack the delicate membranes within. I tried to blow my nose, but I'm having trouble with anything to do with that. Ever since the half marathon, my overstressed neck muscles have resisted any over-exertion, and it turns out that blowing my nose is one of those things I can't do well any more.

So I stumbled around the flat, making gurgling noises and feeling the inside of my nose combust, waving my hands to attract my wife' attention. But my face covered in white slime so it looked like I was trying to re-enact the Black & White Minstrels. Which, strangely enough, our choir master when I was a 12-year old thought was a good thing for us all to sing. Nothing could be finer than to be in ... South East London, singing songs with racist connotations? Truly it was a more innocent time when you could ... dress up in blackface and hark back to the Good Ol' Days of the deep south? The more I consider that, the stranger it was. I mean, the deep south to me meant Maidstone, not Alabama. I worry that in twenty years time they'll be doing the Horst Wessel song for Christmas concerts, because it will be charming and ironic ...

Not that I'll be alive to see it, having exfoliated my nasal passages to oblivion. I could keep going, but I hear the trick is to stop breathing, and I haven't mastered that yet.


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