What/Who: The local pharmacy / cold & flu virii / western civilization

Where/When: Across the street / today

Event: I’ve come down sick. Again! (after being run over by flu before Christmas) My partner’s mum rang up last night, all soothing and encouraging, said go to the pharmacy and speak to them about a cough mixture. Get the right one, she said, because they all do different things. My friend’s daughter works in a pharmacy, she said, and they’re always going on training courses so they can recommend the right stuff. They’ll know what to give you, she said.

So today I went across the street to the local pharmacy. Girl behind the counter just stood there. I want to say lady, or even gal, but I’m pretty sure she was a girl. (I feel badly about that, and am beginning to lose how to measure people up now that I’m 36.) But she was in pharmacy whites, so I said, “Can I talk to you about cough mixture?” She said yes, but in a way sort of like “you have questions about cough mixture?” I explained the ways in which I felt poorly, and ways in which I didn’t feel poorly, and please could she recommend something; so she came around to browse the shelf. She regarded the products in a way sort of like “Well this one comes in a red box… and it’s tall and narrow… whereas this one comes in a green box… and it’s shorter and fatter…”  She eventually chose one.

Then she said something about taking paracetamol or ibuprofen, so I asked if she could suggest whether I should buy the regular strength Lemsip or the extra strong Lemsip. She regarded the selection of Lemsips and said, “Well some come as tablets… whereas these ones are sachets…” Then she said that Lemsip contained caffeine so don’t take it before bedtime; take a regular paracetamol capsule instead.

I chose a box of regular sachet Lemsip (black currant yum yum) and took the cough syrup she recommended, bought it, and came home.

Water in kettle, switch on, examine box of cough syrup. Open up bottle, pour spoonful, put spoon in mouth — PLEEAACCHH! There’s a market for this stuff?!? It’s Meltus. I haven’t had Meltus before. I won’t be buying it again.

Kettle boils. Wonder about sagacity of consuming caffeine. Examine box of Lemsip. “Active Ingredients:” the outside says. It lists paracetamol and Phenylephrine hydrochloride. “Also contains aspartame and sucrose” it advises. No mention of caffeine. But it contains vitamin C, right? That’s why it says make up with hot but not boiling water, right? This stuff has vitamin C in, which makes it marginally better than taking paracetamol tablets, right? No mention on box. Hmm. If the box doesn’t mention vitamin C, maybe it doesn’t mention caffeine either. AAAAArrgh how am I supposed to know what’s in these damn sachets if the box won’t say!! This is a pharmaceutical product for gods’ sakes!!

Open box. Find paper insert. “Each sachet of powder contains…blahblah gory detail…and ascorbic acid (vitamin C).” I was right. Plus one (1) vitamin C. No mention of caffeine.

Grrrrrrr Lemsip is a standard UK product! Everybody takes Lemsip! Should not a pharmacist know whether the damn stuff contains caffeine?!

And shouldn’t they know how to recommend a cough mixture?? They shouldn’t look at me like I’m some kind of idiot. I don’t have a rare disease nobody in Britain has ever heard of. I have flu/cold! EVERYBODY has flu/cold right now. This is not rocket science.

And why didn’t the box of Lemsip explain itself fully on the outside! Am I expected to stand there in the store and open the box up, like some dodgy “let’s poison the bottles of Tylenol because we’re still in the pre-safety-seal era” sociopath?

I am grouchy that products don’t do a thorough and complete job of explaining themselves on the outside.

I am grouchy that people recommend and encourage you to talk to medical professionals, and then those professionals turn out to be idiots and I could have figured out the same thing by myself.

I am grouchy that I’m sick again!

*bursts into tears* >wail!<

Grrrometer: 5 plus tissues

Where: Birmingham New Street Station

Event:

“To forget your season ticket once is considered unfortunate, to forget it twice smacks of carelessness.”

I’m a fare dodger. Not on purpose. I left my season ticket pass and wallet by my bed this morning. I dodged the fare. (But got a penalty ticket so justice in the universe remains balanced)

It’s the second time I’ve forgotten it. (The appeals system only allows you to appeal twice in a twelve month period, so I can’t forget it again!) The staff were very helpful, sweet and polite. I’ve appealed it, sent proof of my season ticket and all will be well.

What tips does any one have so I can remember it?

Grrrometer: In the grand scheme of things it’s small fry. But if I forget another time I could end up in court. 3 out of 10.

Where:  Home over the weekend.

Event: Visited the parental units over the weekend as it was a combined celebration of my nephew’s 5th birthday and Father’s Day. Lovely weekend. Charging my phone overnight Saturday. Sunday morning I thought as I unplugged the charger “Mustn’t forget this, it’ll be really annoying”.

Oh yes, gentle reader, I forgot that charger as I packed my bag. I was without power recharging on Sunday afternoon and Monday. Gingerly I listened to songs and posted online always thinking “Do I have the power for this?”.

My wonderful Dad came to my rescue by posting the charger to my office.

Grrrometer: In the grand scheme of things it’s small fry. But at the time of realising I had no charger, it’s a 7 out of 5

Given that I’m my own harshest critic, I try my very best to observe my own rules.

But something’s gone terribly wrong. I’ve just read through my Twitter timeline from the past five days and realised that, with the exception of one or two half decent tweets, I’ve been the most supremely boring Tweeter this week. It’s a timeline that could bring a sponsored smile to an abrupt halt, leading to the devastating closure of a small well-building charity in Africa.  And it’s definitely been a week of instantly forgettable, 140-character toss that’s unlikely to trigger an avalanche of #followfriday mentions.

I’m not going to lie: I like getting #followfriday nods. Who doesn’t? It’s the ultimate endorsement from your Twitter peers that your phenomenally witty/bed-wettingly funny and/or interesting and erudite tweets are simply not to be missed. It’s sort of like a guest being welcomed into a party of strangers and being told by the host: “I must introduce you to Andy – he’s hilarious!” Of course, the alternative is for the host to whisper in the guest’s ear: “Try not to get stuck in a corner with Andy. I swear to god, you’ll start self-harming.”

So when the virtual tumbleweed danced across the #followfriday landscape today – following a week when several #ff’s had been gratefully received – it was difficult not to feel like I’d suffered a catastrophic loss of form.

Originally, before reviewing my timeline, I thought I’d had a decent week on Twitter. In my analogical mind, I thought I’d run a fairly respectable marathon. However, the nod-less #followfriday suggested that all I did, analogically speaking, was fail hard, do a humiliating poo at the roadside, start crying…and ultimately fail to cross the finish line.

So what’s my Grrrrrr? Well, I’m annoyed with myself for being rubbish, and for drying up, and for not having anything remotely interesting to say, and for being bereft of inspiration. I’ve finally run out of things to say on Twitter! And I’m pissed off that I’m now racked with self-doubt (because I tend to worry about these sorts of things).

Anyway, ignore me. I’m just having a massive moment.

I’m off to see if I left my mojo in the men’s toilets.

Grrrometer: I’m not angry; I’m just disappointed.

UPDATE: I did actually receive an eleventh hour #followfriday from someone I don’t actually follow. I suppose I should be grateful for any and all #ff’s, but I couldn’t help but notice that I was grouped with a Chartered Management Accountant; a learning and development specialist; and Alan – “doing his best for local businesses”. That sort of confirms that if I left my mojo in the men’s toilets at all, I probably accidentally flushed it away too.

Where/When: @The kitchen at breakfast time

Event: Dried fruit. I *despise* dried fruit. I also don’t like tinned fruit.  I like fruit to be…. fruit! Juicy & yummy & natural.

Raisiny Overkill

Lots of people don’t like raisins, sultanas etc., but look at what the heck came out of my bowl of Morrisons’ Swiss Style Muesli this morning! No bliddy need!!

Why doesn’t anyone make a raisin-free muesli, I protested to mesself. Oh they do!?

Raisin-free Muesli

Ooohhhh but wait! They get *rid* of the raisins & *replace* them with more horrible little scab-like morsels of mango, apple, apricots & dates etc! GAH!

Grrrometer: 3 – I just want some nutty, oaty goodness!

Where/When: Our kitchen on Christmas Eve

Event: Hubby has been under the weather recently and watching way too much food & cookery tv. He decided that Gordon Ramsay’s turkey basting method was fab and would make yummy tender turkey for Christmas dinner. He is unable to do this himself. Hmph.

Please bear in mind, I am an ex-vegetarian who still hates eating flesh but is weak …..! I passionately hate preparing raw meat and struggle with a turkey anyway , especially digging for the giblets & neck *gulp*.

But no! I had to force the cold, rubbery skin from the turkey’s dead flesh with my bare hands (ok not quite, thank god for latex gloves!) and rub butter and fresh herbs between the skin and the meat. Argh!

It *was* the best turkey I’ve ever tasted, though so i’ve got over it now …!

Grrrometer: 3 repulsive. But nomnomnom!!

Where/When: Outside kidlets’ school at hometime today

Event: At the Year 5 & 6 Christmas disco, some bright spark thought it was a fab idea to give them all a party blower each….

Have you ever been in the middle of a 120-strong throng of 9 to 11 year olds with party blowers?!? Bear in mind, the audioboo was recorded *after* the main body of them had moved away!

Listen!

Grrrometer: 3 – couldn’t decide whether I felt grrrful or mirthful!