Tomorrow, I am reliably informed by the internet and my five year old’s school, marks the first day of Spring. In the northern hemisphere that translates I assume into the first day of Autumn. I always thought it was tied to equinoxes and solstices and such but it seems I was wrong.
Apparently the seasons are split into three month intervals purely for convenience and have no climatological basis whatsoever. Having spent the first twenty-one years of my life in Wales I was hardly shocked by this revelation, although I do seem to recall the drizzle getting slightly more persistent each September.
Cape Town laughs in the face of Spring much like it guffaws in the general direction of the other three seasons. Today it pissed down and was cold, tomorrow it’ll be mild, cloudy and windy and by the end of the week it’s going to be warm enough to consider getting into the pool (subject to solar panels still functioning and sufficient malt based ambition having been imbibed). We have been instructed to send Rhys to school with a Spring hat made from rubbish (not just a rubbish hat as I first thought) along with juice and a sandwich (no doubt for an indoor picnic).
I know what you’re thinking and I agree I am a terrible parent.
By the power of diet and vitamins I have successfully kept both my children scurvy, rickets, and beri-beri free (so far) but that is merely a distraction from my ambitions of pure evil.
Yes, ladies and gentleman, I am sending Rhys to school with something made from wheat.
For anyone reading this who suffers from a wheat allergy or wheat intolerance or lives a life of darkness, trapped behind the front door afraid to go out for fear of a vicious flour attack I’m sorry for my lack of knowledge and inherent insensitivity but I cannot help but wonder, what did everyone blame for everything before wheat became the devil? It has become the catch-all blame-monkey for ailments both major and minor.
“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve got hives behind my eyeballs, athlete’s armpit and an ingrowing hair just above my ankle.”
“Did you eat a sandwich?”
“No! Of course not…but I was in a crowded room last Thursday and I’m pretty sure my bare arm brushed against a vol-au-vent.”
“Ah. There you go…”
People often confuse the nature of my wheat intolerance (see what I did there). I’m not suggesting that it doesn’t affect people…I just don’t believe that it is so prevalent. It has become cool to have an allergy. Especially a wheat flavoured one. Which pisses me off on behalf of those people actually affected.
I suffered with hay fever quite severely as a kid. Nose alternating between blocked and endlessly running, throat alternating between being on fire and being so itchy that I fantasised about stabbing it with a fork. Coughing, wheezing, sneezing fits. Et cetera. The only thing that would sort it out was an antihistamine injection.
So when someone sniffs twice and sneezes once a day and bleats about terrible hay fever I get cross.
Let me explain. When you properly get hay fever you are utterly miserable and worn out through lack of sleep. If you are in any doubt, use this simple test question to assess the situation.
“Can you get immediate relief from your single sniff via some generic small white tablet you got over the counter from any pharmacy after seeing it on an advert filled with people getting over their same minor symptoms with the same pills before going romping through a meadow wearing a pollen filled balaclava? If yes then STOP WASTING MY TIME WITH YOUR SHIT.”
Whilst I’m on this subject let me also point out that I know people who have acne scars. Your four spots are not acne, much in the same way as the beautiful skinned models rubbing cream into their cheek-boned magnificence on TV also do not have acne. Or spots presumably.
Can I also mention that you being a bit short of breath for half a nanosecond does not necessarily mean you have rampant asthma.
None of it can of course compete with the worldwide epidemic of SDF (Self Diagnosis of the Flu). When you have flu you are man down. You do not have FLU for twenty-four hours you have a FUCKING COLD. The only similarity between flu and your cold is the fact that neither sufferer has a doctor’s note. The flu sufferer doesn’t because she is afraid that she might actually die if she gets out of bed to try and see the doctor, whereas you don’t have a doctor’s note because work only needs one if you’re off work for more than two days and you’ve got a FUCKING COLD.
Bugger. It all started so promisingly and then I got all shouty.
Oh well. Happy Spring Day. May your days be long, your dreams be fulfilled and your ailments be based on some vague sense of reality.
Header Image of Pollen: By Dartmouth Electron Microscope Facility, Dartmouth College retouched by Medium69 – William Crochot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.