My dog’s got no nose.
How does he smell?
Quite fragrant really.


One particular side effect of having had a heart attack is the sudden unavailability of OTC medication I had previously taken for granted.

Around Thursday last week I began to notice the onset of some unwanted but seasonal symptoms.

By Friday the cold was in full swing.

In a non swinging kind of way.


The sudden sneeze attacks, the gradual opening of the sluices on the upper levels of the River of Snot (leading, with relentlessly efficient rapidity, to the inevitable downward deluge of mucus), and all of these goodnesses accompanied by a cough so violent it could stun an elk at 25 paces.

That kind of full swing.

Normally I would just load up with a perch or two of Paracetamol, take on board a bushel or several of Lemsip, and continue ploughing through my duties like a slightly underpowered ice-breaker.

Except it seems that I have to learn a new ‘normally’, in some areas of life.

Lemsip, for a start, is now a banned substance.

It contains a substance called phenobarbitone (nb, this isn’t the correct ingredient, but it’s the closest to the correct name that the spellchecker on this phone will allow).

Short of, under cover of the darkest of dark evenings, me donning a hoody pulled hard down over my face, slinking in to the village Shell petrol station, and illicitly buying some contraband Lemsip, those particular meds are now just distant memories; the recreational drugs of my recent past.

So too the aforementioned quantities of Paracetamol.


Instead I have to grin and bear it (though the discovery of having a sultry young maiden vigorously massage industrial quantities of Vic’s in to my chest, back, and shoulders, led to some unexpectedly pleasurable sensations).

There has been experimentation with some fringey, alternate drugs.

A bucketful of a honey, lemon, brandy combination led to a deep, dreamless sleep.

Not so much drugged, more medicated as a newt.

The chest needs to be kept a close eye on.

I am keeping in practice by becoming ever more familiar with the chest of the most accommodating sultry young maiden.

Hers being easier to study than mine.


Anyway, at the first sign of a possible chest infection I have to head straight to the doctor at a rapid canter, so she can throw even more drugs at me.

Something to do with the infection causing all kinds of problems for my already-working-at-full-pelt-post-heart-attack-chest-recovery-unit.

Yes, it’s a thing.


Anyway, as these things do, even though the cold is not a virus, it has spread.

To the unfortunate but still very attractive sultry maiden.

This evening the poor lass is plainly stricken by the same symptoms from which I am still recovering. From.

So tonight I shall apply the honey, lemon, and brandy mix.

And then I shall wait upstairs, ready with the vat of Vic’s.

To her back, shoulders and, of course, chest.

All in the name of medical science.


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