Here’s the story of whisky, witches, and warmth.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t like people coughing into my eyeballs. I might be alone on this, but I was always taught to cover my mouth. I don’t know why we bother teaching kids manners and good behaviour because there comes a point in the life of every adult when said adult stops and thinks, ‘Hey! I’m an adult, I can do what I want,’ like cough into other people’s faces. I think these people think, ‘Well, I’m not well, I want others to suffer, too,’ and to be fair, that does sound like the Britain I know and love. They also stare at you a lot, too, do other adults. ‘People watching’ is a fascinating concept I’ve only just discovered. ‘You can tell a lot about somebody by staring at them for a while.’ Erm… okay. Define ‘a lot.’ He looks like a bum. Fair enough. He’s a Cancer. Okay, I’m calling the cops…
The thing is, people who people watch think that everyone does it, like walking into a McDonalds and taking far more napkins and condiments than you need because you’re a cheapskate and figure that it would be considerably cheaper to just take stuff than pay for a full bottle of ketchup. Few do that. Just like the pool of people watchers is also small and insignificant. The only time one should judge someone in public is on the bus, right after they’ve coughed and spluttered all over your face, followed by a look of ‘what of it,’ and gone back to their own rotten miserable lives, pleased by the fact now someone else has to suffer for weeks on end. Pardon my French, but these people are right old fopdoodles.
The last thing you need after a hard day’s graft, otherwise known as sitting behind a computer pushing pretty little buttons, is a bus ride home on an overcrowded bus, standing room only, packed to the gunnels. It wasn’t very pleasant. And there was this one woman staring right at me. Suddenly, she coughed. All over me. You see, they try to encourage people to use public transport to save the environment and all that, but they didn’t think that putting a muzzle on people might encourage more users, did they now?
It’s not even that which annoyed me the most. Within days, I was full of cold. I almost made it to the end of a rotten 2016 without getting ill. That woman was a bastard. ‘Just a little cold, just a little cold, man up.’ Excuse me? I don’t think not being able to stand up without vomiting violently, feeling incredibly dizzy, tremendous backache, having an insufferable headache, a throat that feels like sandpaper, swollen tonsils, coughing like a docker, aching and stiff joints, plus a knee that won’t bend and a nose running like Americans to Canada, is a ‘little cold.’ That woman has cursed me, like a petulant witch.
I have order. I have logic. I have schedules for every little thing in life. I hate being ill because all that goes out of the window, although I do fight it as long as I can. Come Wednesday night, I drank as much whisky as humanly possible, a traditional northern English remedy for a cold, and went to bed. Waking up feeling like death warmed up, I ventured out to work my usual brave and fearless self. Stop laughing. Needless to say, come the end of the day, I felt like I was on my deathbed. Not to mention yet more coughers on the bus. Something is going round, as they say. Something evil. I’m not sure what she’s called, though…
Still, schedules to keep, come on Ally, keep going. I can’t! Come on, it’s shower night! I can’t make it! Collapses to floor. I don’t care if you’re on the floor, drag yourself into the bath and have that shower! It’s too far! DO IT! I can’t! My schedule, my precious schedule! Damn you evil bus witch! Messing with my shower schedule is the final straw. Shame I can’t do anything about it, but hey-ho.
Everything has a knock-on effect. Have a shower the next day. Fair enough. But, I change my shirt every two days, after I’ve had my shower. No shower means three days without a change of shirt and three days without a shave, and my chin hair grows about as fast as the lies coming from the face of an orange buffoon. I was starting to look like a bum, and I’m already half-way there, even at full health and fitness.
I had to have Friday off work. Not happy about that. I hate illness messing up my life, but then again, I suppose everyone does. At least I could stand up without falling over come Friday, although my knee still isn’t working. At least I managed to catch up on all my programmes. Well, the one’s I could see. My watery eyes made seeing a touch difficult.
I’d also gotten some proper cold sachets by this point, although my message to any kids reading remains, if you’re ill, try whisky first. If you’re having trouble sleeping, what with the blocked nose, a nice 60% whisky does the world of good. Admittedly, you’d be late for school the next day, but what an excuse, eh?
It’s very easy to hate people we deem to be inconsiderate, like that woman I’ve branded an evil, evil witch. It’s very temping, even if most of us wouldn’t admit it, to say that we’d like to cough back at them when they’re all rosy to see how they like it, but now more than ever, such is not conducive to those good manners I spoke of earlier. Goodwill to humankind is not just for Christmas, but also for life. We may encounter evil. We may mistake something for evil, like a woman coughing in my face. But we’ve all forgotten to cover our mouths once in a while. We may spread the evil or become consumed by the hate and rage within us, or the hate and rage others perpetuate. But at the end of the day, we’re all the same. Flesh and bone. Maybe, once in a while, we should stop to think about the millions of things that unite us, and use them as a catalyst to drive away the things that divide us.
Canadian singer, songwriter and poet, Leonard Cohen (September 21st, 1934 – November 7th, 2016), once wrote: ‘There’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.’
Peace Out :|:
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