Sinus, sinusitis, congestion, cattarah, whatever you call it, it is a constant penance of my life. When I was young and innocent, being all infected was grand -acceptable even -but as you get older you look/ sound more whingey whiney when you are constantly a bit unwell. I am in danger of becoming a grumpy old lady with millions of complaints way before my time. Well a little bit before my time…
So onto today. I got to the specialist of ENT. The Wizard of Sinus. Surely if tinman got a heart, the lion some courage and Dorothy was reminded her shoes were magic, surely this guy could tell me how to be rid of these isses?
So as he examined me (which involved putting tubes up my nostrils with pretty much no discomfort warning) he asked if I had banged my nose badly ever. Playing sport, he suggested.
My sporting days belong in the yore of past tense so I nodded non-commitedly thinking sure, yeah, that could have happened. A long time ago.
Just don’t ask when.
He then hurt me with silly straw tubes and it was while my brain was poked that I recalled clearly the time I banged my nose. The time that mattered. When damage may have occurred
It wasn’t too far away from the surgery actually.
The nose disaster occured during the two am walk to the bus home from the Tullamore Harriers, approximately 1996. 1997 max. For those of you not having had the pleasure to teenage angst in the Irish midlands, the Harriers in Tullamore is a sports ground with a sizeable function hall that used to host disco/ niteclubs on a Saturday night. It had a bar. Most people were underage. The rule of thumb was that once you had the provisional driving license (at 17) you definitely got in. You got in as long as you looked somewhat near the age for legality (18). It was like a shebeen for underage drinking. With an Oasis soundtrack. As I teach Yeats poetry I often have a giggle at the line in the sombre Easter 1916 referring to the Gore-Booth/ Markieviez sisters:
‘She often rode to harriers’ Easter 1916
It just meant something way less classy in the midlands of Ireland. English teacher humour. No apologies.
(For those of you who care, it is also where Niall Horan would have gone and he claims it was rare people wanted to *shift him #lookatmenow.
*Shift- local slang for deep kissing, all tongue. Click here for more knowledge on Niall Horan on the Harriers. )
I walked into a lampost. Mr Soft style. Bang on the conk. Every one around me laughed whole-heartedly. This was the highlight of many, many people’s nights. It was quite dramatic.
There was much blood and a massive mark, front and centre. On my nose. Many sketches and drawings occurred on my maths copy, King Lear textbook and so on for quite some time.
Did I tell Mr Sinus, who by the way turned out to be a bit of a humbug, just like the original Wiz?
I surely didn’t.
My friends still laugh. They are probably laughing now.
It was pretty funny I reckon.