I have been fighting an evil cold since last Thursday and am currently drugged up on paracetamol, sudafed, vitamin c and garlic. I'll be safe from vampires, if they even wanted my virus-laden blood. I've been missing my hometown over the last few days, as my sister gave birth to her first baby and my second nephew there on Sunday, but I'm thinking they wouldn't let me near a newborn baby anyway so it's just as well I'm safely thousands of miles away.
I like to eat garlic sandwiches when I have a cold (not at work, even I have a modicum of sense); I need something with a strong taste to power through my sluggish tastebuds as well as giving my immune system a boost. But I only realised my garlic consumption (even sans virus) was impressive when the poet's Italian mother, when given home-grown garlic by a friend, said 'I'll give most of this to (the poet), his girlfriend really likes garlic.' For an Italian to say that.... Strangely, I haven't noticed garlic breath the way I used to when I didn't eat much. Maybe my body's become better at processing it, or, more likely, my olfactory gland was overloaded and I stink. Whatever. I still manage a social life and a marriage.
Saw 'The History Boys' last night and thoroughly enjoyed it - the 80's music, the scenes in Hector's classroom, and most of all the educational nostalgia. Sure, I used to make myself sick over exams and had a persistent mild bully, but otherwise it was just so easy - all we needed to do well was to work hard. Everything was mapped out for us and there was just so much to learn, so many wonderful books and new experiences. I don't know that I've since matched the satisfaction of working out a complex mathematical proof (not that I was great at maths, just methodical). It was all so safe.
Time is a great one for rose-coloured glasses.
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