Hayfever! What sort of pagan gets flippin’ hayfever?!

I am absolutely riddled with hayfever at the moment. Itchy eyes that insist on rubs, preferably with coarse sandpaper. A nose that fills and spills at random, that returns me to the mouth breathing snoring fool I was before the operation. Hot flushes like I was a post menopausal grandmother… Bugrit!!!

To be fair, I’ve always been a sufferer. It’s just that it’s so lovely out there, and I really ought to retire to a filtered air-conditioned telecom room and lock the door. What sort of existence is that for a druidic pagan type?! I walked around the village again this evening; a regular stroll of about three miles. Corn high and green in the fields. Oaks in full leaf. Hedgerows filled with Blackthorn. Back down the hill into the park, passing behind our chicken run (to the bewilderment of our girls, who couldn’t fathom why we were on the wrong side of the fence). And it was only as we reached the main road again and were passed by a lorry belching smoke that I gave in to the sneezes. I think I’ve mostly got it controlled with the actual pollen (grass, I think, is what does for me), but it leaves me so susceptible to normal pollution.

Being anorak enough to diarise the onset of hayfever, I know it developed nearly four weeks later than last year, but only one week later than in 2002. You could do a ‘Springwatch‘ on my sneeze onset! I’ve been advised to try eating locally produced honey (but I don’t really have a sweet tooth. I could try drinking Mead (tee hee) but my favourite tipple Mmmmmmmoniack is in no way local to me). If anyone else has non-medication suggestions, do comment.


One response to “Hayfever! What sort of pagan gets flippin’ hayfever?!”

  1. There is no hour to which I am unknown
    No shade of dusted night I have not seen
    Although my spirit walks in Natures path
    and ever seeks communion with the Green

    The irony cannot be brushed aside
    Like bedsheets, cast off, tossed upon the floor
    I’m beaten by the sweetly scented air
    Abandoned by the wife asleep next door

    Awoken by the failure to respire
    My cracking, bubbling lungs gasp out for breath
    I know now why inhalers are pale blue
    It’s just the shade of skin at point of death

    And how my eyes sing “rub me! Harder! NOW!”
    I ride the wave of ecstacy. And fall
    Into the sand that grinds my sightless orbs.
    And realise there’s no solace at all

    You wonder at my love of bursting Spring
    How I prefer the Winter to the Summer
    How autumns russet leaves make my heart sing
    Well now you know; this season is a bummer…


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