2005-03-02 - 3:05 p.m.

When I get a cold, planets move out of alignment.

The issue, apart from mucous, is that on the Beaufort scale, I rate:

Sneezing: 10
Blowing nose: 10

Strangers comment on the volume at which I void my nostrils. It seems one is expected to blow one's nose gently and discretely, expelling air like a gentle zephyr coaxing leaves across a forest floor. With me it's more like an elephant playing the trombone has been shot through a whale's blowhole.

And the sneezing. Oy. I have these sneezing fits. Rapid fire, really violent. Imagine the sound of a Norse God climaxing. The cat bolts out of the room faster than the human eye can process. I swear to God, I sneezed yesterday and the blinds shook.

The trouble is, my excessive voiding creates a vicious circle:

Check out the snot decoration. Pre-tty cool. There's even a tiny bit of blood, look.

I knew this bastard was on its way on Sunday when I got a headache and fit of the shivers. Yesterday the snotfalls began and I was somewhat caught short in the Hammersmith area. You may have wrestled lions or walked fiery coals, my friend, but you have not known the true meaning of risk, until you have sneezed into your hand and plunged it into your coat pocket without first making sure there's a handkerchief in there.

Today, I hope, the cold is peaking. You're not supposed to eat dairy when you've got a cold, apparently. So this morning I had a big yoghurt and milky tea. And for lunch I had soup and salad. The salad being rocket and parmesan. And the soup being tomato. With some parmesan on. I couldn't help it, all right? That slutty yoghurt, tempting me with it's moist, glistening cherry compote. OK, I'll pay for it later in snot. And you'll hear it half way round the world.

Wish me better.

Profilage - Previosity - Nextitude