Friday, July 22, 2011

Whine and Roses

I have just had: a mug of sweet tea with milk, a portion of chips from the kebab van in the village and three Co-op Truly Irresistible stem ginger cookies. And you know what? I feel wonderful. Too wonderful, I'm very well aware, I am having what is known as a sugar high. It is particularly high, in the context of my sugar-free, hardcore health regime. But today was a post-dental anaesthetic very bad day coupled with over an hour at the vet's trying to take in what he was saying about our beloved cat's hyperthyroid condition and her forty per cent weight loss. It was a homeopathic consultation, hence the length of time. Mr. S was there too so at one point I asked to go into the waiting room to lie down, but a noisy wolfy dog kept barking. I went outside and breathed in the scent of roses, I remembered them from another summer, fragrant and comforting. Back at the ranch there were other things to fix: a broken loo seat, unravelling holiday arrangements, my root-filled tooth feeling as though the nerve is still in there, jumping, and no-one at the surgery able to put hand on heart to swear that every bit of nerve has been removed - so it may be I have to go through this again next week. And I have spent, you know, many hundreds on this tooth. So, as you can imagine, I was ready to go outside and shoot myself in the head - but chips, cookies and sweet tea (plus co-proxamol, yes, that too) suddenly seemed like the better option. The body screamed for sweetness.

Just as soon as seems decently possible, I would like to have a really chilled white whine. Only recently heard about this particularly first world activity where, in the words of my informant, "we complain of things such as the internet connection on my phone breaking up if I get a phone call into it while I'm online, or that my iPad weighs so much in my back pocket that it tends to pull my tracksuit bottoms down in an unsightly fashion." Love it. Can't wait to indulge. Need to clear the decks a bit first though.



Zhoen said...

Comfort wherever we can find it.

belinda whitworth said...

I second that, and I LOVE the 'white whine' business.

Reading the Signs said...

Yes, it hits a note, doesn't it :)

Anna MR said...

A nod's as good as a wink here, Schwesterlein.

But oy vey iz mir, these are bad days for us Scandinavianistas and, let's face it, people in general. The "dwindling armies of the sane", as someone highly sane (according to this particular definition) once highly quotably uttered. What in God's name is wrong with the world, Signskins? You're a poet - therefore I expect answers and words of wisdom of you, you know. Nay - the world does. So, you know. No pressure. Just saying.

Um. This just kinda burst out of me because the recent events in the Nor of Way have startled, saddened, horrified, enfuriated et cetera ad infinitum me. Which isn't meant to reduce your birthright to a very, very well chilled white whine, whenever the moment should feel right.

Just bloody well hope your toothypegs have stopped being hurty. Shame on the toothfairy as well as all the right-wing populist wanks of the world. Amongst other things.

(I sound like one bonkers, I feel. Sorry about that.)

As ever, mit mwahen galore


Reading the Signs said...

Don't think I'm not deeply mulling on your question, Schwes - but sometimes even a poet gets stumped for words of wisdom. I keep coming back to old grandma Mutti's thing about being heppy because things can only get vorse. In the toothfairy department this is definitely the case.

Mit Mwahen auch von mir


Mim said...

I hope soon you will be able to eat an epple.

Best from Boston

Reading the Signs said...

Mim, an epple? When already, then already!

Anna MR said...

Well funny enough, Grandma Mutti's words of heppiness and the times getting only vorse had come to my mind as well - before you mentioned her and them, I mean. Isn't this strange? I think she may be communicating.

Hope the toothy things just effing well get sorted...and that the dentist has delicate and gentle, healing hands.