Spring is coming, and though absolutely entirely fabulous news, (beach at Easter, don’t mind if I do), it also brings with it the misery of hayfever.  “An allergy to hay, miserable?  Do you me a favour“, I hear you cry in unison.  But it is true.  The first three or four weeks of Spring are Hell, while I try and continue life as normal,  but in the form of a very sad clown that’s been repeatedly punched in the face.

Me and my hayfever suffering friends. That’s me in the natty top hat

All big red nose and  swollen, lumpy eyes.  Whatever the type of tree that inhabits my immediate vicinity, it’s that very species that sends me over the edge every March/April.

Seek and destroy pollen, giant and agressive, clearly visible, seems to find its way straight into my nasal passage, eyes and down my throat, stick to my clothes and hair and therefore by proxy every single ítem of clothing I possess and all bedding and towels.  There’s no escape.

I’m throwing antihistamines down my neck at an alarming rate  and they are helping a little, but not enough to restore my sense of smell and taste and my dignity.  Sneezing fits last 20 minutes and my face is leaking.  No-one needs to see that on the Metro.

Roll on the end of pollination season. How long you say?  Four more weeks?  NNnnnooooooooooooooooooo!