Seasonal disorders

I have a cold. A filthy, debilitating, snot ridden and temporarily life changing cold.

I haven’t had one of these for ages, in fact for about three years since I started having flu jabs each winter. I know they tell you that the flu jab doesn’t prevent you getting a cold (or even some types of flu) but it has done a pretty good job so far with me and this has come as a bit of a shock.

So, symptoms! Firstly there’s the sore throat, which feels like dozens of razor blades have been unceremoniously rammed down it and wiggled about a bit. Then there’s the ear ache, which renders temporary deafness and a throbbing pain at the side of your head akin to being knocked out by a sledgehammer. Just as these are subsiding, comes the runny nose when you could rival an overflowing River Thames for the volume of liquid which seems to run down your face towards your mouth on a regular basis and due to the regularity with which you have to blow your nose, turns you into a passable doppelganger for Rudolph. And after the runny nose the final stage, the thick, usually green immovable snot which takes up residence in your sinuses, redecorates, has babies – often called Grolly – and generally makes your life a misery.

Whichever of Mother Nature’s elves designed our faces and thought it was a good idea to put your nose higher than your mouth and throat ought to be drowned in green gunk. When you get to stage three (the runny nose stage) mucus runs down your throat making you feel sick and out of your nose towards your mouth making you look like some sort of creature from the black lagoon, covered in slime. Prominent in the centre of your face, no amount of make up will disguise the reddish glow caused by too much blowing and for days people will go around trying not to look and saying “Poor you!”.

There really is a mind blowingly diverse range of different cold cures around. Meandering into Boots looking for a simple Lemsip, I was faced with almost a whole row of different makes and remedies in a massive range of flavours and different ways of ingesting. There are powders, syrups, capsules, things that last four hours, eight hours, all night and possibly also boil the kettle for you. But I still maintain my customised remedy of hot water, lemon juice, honey, brandy and a couple of emptied Lemsip capsules stirred in is best. Adjust the amount of brandy according to mood! Not only does it give you a cracking night’s sleep, it tackles the little b*****d viruses head on.

I have manfully (or should that be womanfully?) struggled into work today, and am sitting with a martyred look on my face beavering away (well, not literally at the moment of course, because I’m writing this).  Come 4pm, I will snuffle, sigh, maybe sneeze and cough a bit and make my excuses to go home. On the train, I will hide my face into my scarf looking sorry for myself and occasionally no doubt emerge for a very wet sneeze and good blow (it’s essential to emerge as my scarf comes from Barbour and is expensive, and I don’t want to get snot all over it).

Then I will go to bed when I get home with a hot water bottle and my patent remedy as outlined above, put “The Muppet Christmas Carol” on the DVD player, and so far as blocked nostrils allow, drift off to sleep. Bliss!

Thoroughly spoilt - for maybe the last time.

On Sunday, we were thoroughly spoilt.

It was The Hubby’s birthday, and as it has been a pretty crap year I decided he needed treating. To make things complete, it was a gorgeous day with clear blue sky and the sun shining, in fact warmer than many days we had in June or July.

So we headed to the South Bank and wandered up and down by the Thames in the sunshine. We looked at all the craft stalls and bought a few bits and bobs for Christmas as well as partaking of a glass of really delicious gluwein. Then we wandered up to Covent Garden and did a bit more Christmas shopping, topping it all off with afternoon tea at the Savoy Hotel.

My, it’s posh in there! The hotel recently had a total refit and was closed for a period of 18 months, reopening in splendour about a year ago. Goodness knows how much it cost, but it gleams with polished marble floors and beautiful wooden panelling, and you sink into chairs with massive padded cushions you could sleep on (and we nearly did once we’d stuffed ourselves with dainty little sarnies, scones and cream, pastries and cake – oh, and after a glass of very nice champagne, which many of you will know isn’t usually my choice of drink).

When you go to a posh London hotel for tea it really is a treat, and you don’t have to lift a finger. Each time a waiter wanders past the table they top up your tea cup and the refills of food and beverage just keep coming (although not the champagne, which you pay for by the glass). Nothing is too much trouble; I asked for a different chair to accommodate my crook back, and straight away one was whisked in from somewhere and the unsuitable one squirreled away. We each wanted different blends of tea; “Of course, Madam” and within minutes two gleaming silver teapots arrived at the table (well, probably very well polished chrome) with wisps of steam coming from their spout, and proper tea leaves inside and a posh silver tea strainer. For all I know the waiter went away and swore in Polish or whatever his native language was (they are all foreign) but to our face he couldn’t have been more helpful.

It really is nice to treat yourself occasionally and in our case, see how the other half lives. Short of a lottery win, we will never be able to do this more regularly so it felt very indulgent and to be able to do it actually on The Hubby’s birthday was even better. We even treated ourselves to a cab back to Victoria, which The Hubby normally snubs as an upper class, elite indulgence. Personally my feet were killing me and we had shopping to carry, so there was no way I was walking and birthday or not, he would have been on his own.

Now of course, it’s back to reality and certainly after Christmas, if he still doesn’t have a job, we will fall upon hard times. Some hard decisions will have to be made about spending and alternative types of work, and we will really cut back. The monthly treat then will probably be Wetherspoon’s curry night (and nothing wrong with that, after all!).

Research is continuing into alternative means of living and going out on a limb with something completely different, but I am so tied up with panto I haven’t got very far. But come next year, when panto will be over, I am no longer Treasurer of the operatic society and I can focus, I do intend to try and do something definite about it.

They say it takes a crisis to a) make you appreciate what you have got and b) take courageous decisions, so maybe this is it. Good job we spoilt ourselves now, we may never get the chance again!

We all love office training sessions. don't we?

I’m just off to deliver a training session.

In a previous life, I worked as a regional training officer for Barclays Bank (and look what a mess they got into afterwards) and I do quite enjoy standing on my feet in front of a crowd with a good set of notes, the facts at my fingertips and ‘performing’.  That will come as no surprise to those of you that know me, of course!

It’s a funny old thing, office training. Often (not always, but usually) the participants are reluctant and see other things as far more important than sitting in front of one of their senior managers who is spouting on about something they consider inconsequential and nothing to do with them. Therefore they rarely engage, reasoning that if they ask questions or show interest the session will be prolonged and keep them away from whatever else they think they should be doing for longer than absolutely necessary.

Just occasionally I have been to a training course which has proved stimulating, exciting and informative. They are the exception, and when I deliver a course I always try to emulate that and be animated and inclusive; there’s nothing more boring than sitting listening to someone speak for hours without variety. If it’ll only take 20 minutes, don’t pad it out for an hour and never, ever subject your audience to death by PowerPoint.

This afternoon’s session is to tell staff about a benchmarking exercise they have to take part in for a four week period in the run up to Christmas. It involves extra work, which is never popular, so I have a selling job to do. It involves completing data in a spreadsheet, which is also generally unpopular unless you are an anoraky statistician, which none of them are, so a bit of an uphill struggle.

By and large, I have discovered that Town Planners think town planning is the centre of the universe and nothing else that is not on their ethereal plain matters. The fact that they may be a costly resource, slow or inefficient is an alien concept to them, much like giving a decent level of polite and helpful customer care. One or two are particularly arrogant (I blogged about them a few weeks back) and if they think that you are not similarly qualified to them will treat you like doggie doos on their shoe- they have come unstuck in the past doing that to me (I'm actually more highly qualified than most of them), and so I doubt will try it again. This benchmarking could be seen as a threat, as it will expose their shortcomings as well as celebrate what they are doing well at.

But I’m a good trainer (not just my personal opinion by the way, I have been told so by others). I enjoy doing it, I make sure I’m properly prepared and I don’t just read off the slides. I use humour and invite participation. I will be highlighting the benefits and mentioning, although playing down, the disadvantages. So it should be OK.

So, off to the lions den! I should say that if I live to blog another day, it’s been OK. If you never hear from me again, you will know that they have eaten me alive!