So I’m still pouring Olive Oil and bicarbonate of soda down my lugholes.
My hearing hasn’t particularly improved despite the distressing amounts of brown goo and hardened matter that I have removed in perfectly fossilized replicas of my meatus acusticus externus – hmm? Wasn’t that a song by Ian Dury? In fact, despite my daily endeavours things seem to have slightly worsened in the old hearing department.
On the bright side though the skin of my inner ear is beautifully soft and fragrant. Anyone wishing to dip an olive into my ear – or even an entire salad – do feel free.
I have noticed though that as my hearing dysfunction continues there are sundry knock-on effects. These knock-on effects just highlight to me the sheer interconnectedness of all my internal tubes. The back of my nose and throat feel constantly irritated and thick with mucus. The sound of my own voice sounds deafening to my own ears and like I am speaking underwater. Unlike the popular myth that Deaf people speak louder I have found the opposite to be true; I am speaking so softly that my wife is saying, “what?” to me more than I’m saying it to her.
However, I am hopeful that all this auricular irrigation is having some kind of positive effect (even if it is occurring in slow increments) as I have noticed that, over the last few days, my sense of smell has noticeably improved. I am suddenly noticing ambient smells that have previously past me by. Some of these are even pleasant. The smell of cooking. The smell of household cleaning agents. The smell of Voldermort blackening and curling up around the edges like old newspaper in a bonfire.
Some of these will no doubt give you a clue as to some of the weekend’s activities.
Some smells, however, are less than pleasant.
In particular the smell of mothballs that emanated from the six and a half foot giant who plonked himself down next to me in the cinema over the weekend while I feasted my eyes on Hermione, Harry and Hogwarts.
I didn’t think people still used mothballs but plainly I was wrong. The smell was overpowering. The guy reeked of it. No sooner had I lost myself in Gringotts than my very own Hagrid would shift an armpit and release the moth-killing mustiness of what must have been decades and decades of mothballs lying dormant in a drawer somewhere.
“Why? Why have you come out like this?” Was the question that constantly ran through my mind as I angled my good ear to the speakers. “You’re youngish – no older than middle aged – and you are accompanied by a woman of relatively attractive persuasion. Why are you mothballing your jumpers?”
Hold on, a minute. Jumpers in July?
Sigh. I guess that’s the clue, isn’t it?
This guy obviously lives with an elderly mother or perhaps even his granny.
She still gives him homemade wool knits for Christmas and packs him off to work with a cheese and pickle sandwich and a scotch egg every day. Bet he takes a spoonful of cod liver oil every night too when he’s dressed in his jimjams.
He’s a good boy.
He’ll no doubt go far.
Just sadly not far enough.
What did you say, Harry? Smelly armus? You’re not far wrong, mate. You’re not far wrong.
I think it was a new thing cinemas across the country are doing. You know, like smell-o-vision. They pay select extras to sit in the audience to create the sense of being in amongst a bunch of Harry Potter characters.
Michelloui: ah, that would explain the smell of bat droppings, snake poo and wand liniment that was coming from the row behind me.
With a bit of added salt, I think I may have found somewhere to dip my chips (your ears, not his armpits)
Go to Boots and get some squirty salty water. Works wonders. But will break the bank.
Do you get the mad man/woman sitting next to you on the bus as well? There's only one common factor you know!
Trish: it would be a bit of a squeeze but I reckon I could manage a sausage in batter as well.
Nota Bene: I never take the bus. Not since the banning letter anyway. And the petition. And the superinjunction.
So just why did you want to take a bus....what were you going to do with it...and why?
And...given the list described...who shopped you?
The fly in the web: Mothball Man is not my favourite superhero. He shopped me to the flying squad 'cos I wanted to use the bus to ramraid a butterfly farm. Actually, given your moniker, there's quite a theme developing here. Bugs me what it is though.
Good sense of smell eh - well they say every cloud :)
Having your very own Hagrid sitting next to you made me smile (sorry).
I loved ,loved ,loved that film.
Mothballs don't smell that bad unless you're a moth. You're lucky they masked the natural smell of his armpits. To say nothing of his man-balls.
Suzanne: would rather have had Hermione. Or Luna. Or even professor McGonagall.
Gorilla Bananas: if man-balls protected clothes from moths no man would ever have holey trousers. And porn stars lips would repel butterflies.
Heard that too Steve. I had a ghastly second week on an otherwise perfect Greek island holiday some years back, when all the warm waters of the pool and the Ionian Sea partly melted the wax lodged in both my ears, at the same trapping some water in my inner canals. The level of noise and sound distortion deep inside each ear was pure misery. Nearly drove me insane.
Empathise with you completely on your cinema ‘Hagrid’ experience. I once had some great big overgrown ape, slump down next to me with his bit of trollop in tow. He reeked of urine & B.O. right from the off and quickly passed out fast asleep on his trollops shoulder for most of the film. The stench was so over powering that one by one, all of us around him, moved to new seats afar.
I hope you manage to get your ear problem sorted Steve.
I SAIDDD…I HOPE YOU MANAGE TO GET YOUR EAR PROBLEM SORTED STEEEEVE!!
Ears can be an Achilles' Heel. I sympathize. Just be glad you're not Dobby ! No, hang on... he's DEAD !!!!! Oh my God they killed Dobby !
BTW I am NOT dipping anything anywhere on your personage, so dispel those thoughts NOW.
Bish Bosh Bash: wazzat yer sayin' young 'un? I caint hear nuthin on account of all those godferseken flies buzzing around yer... I say, I say why does yer smell o'piss, son? You not heard o'bathin where yoo's comes frum?
Keith: "Oh my God they killed Dobby!" That's an episode of South Park I'm sad I missed.
Once found myslef a plane next to a bloke who stank and I mean sour smelling, not washed for weeks, foul BO. I asked to move - politely of course - and got my way eventually.
Mark: and how did the captain feel about sharing his cockpit?
It was Harry Potter smellovision, a little extra bonus for the last one so you know what Hogwarts smells of.
TMI re the symptoms but get well soon Steve. Lx
It is amazing how unaware people can be of their physical emanations. While on vacation recenlty crossed paths with a gentleman whose odors I assume were a nearby cesspool, until I realized the stench was following the person around. The clothes in question will need to be burned one day, I fear...
Laura: I always imagined that Hogwarts smelled of chocolate frogs and bat bogies. Mothballs is something of a disappointment.
Owen: we have a guy like that who walks his dog around Warwick... the fetid smell of unwashed body parts follows him around like a miasmic cloud... you wouldn't need a police sniffer dog to follow his trail.
Being the chronic hypochondriac that I am, I'm finding your blog disturbing reading lately. For some reason, after reading this post, I've come over all itchy.
Rol: I can recommend a decent fly spray (and no, I don't mean Spanish).
I have a mother in-law (just the one, thank the good Lord) who stores everything, but everything, surrounded by mothballs.
Every present she has ever given our daughter reeks of mothballs. When the poor kid peels back the wrapping paper of any gift, the first thing to hit is the stench. Books, dolls, board games... you name it. Totally and utterly unnecessarily drenched. Blegh.
Am bracing for Saturday and the birthday party.
Oh.... how did I manage to make this about ME and my inconvenience? Heh. It's a curse.
Being Me: a birthday party with the odour of mothballs...? That's not an ideal combination, is it? I suggest lots of chocolate and ice cream and jelly to battle the pungent pong of granny...
not many people can get Harry potter,olfactory issues and an ear condition in one blog subject!
well done that man!
John: my blog is a smorgasbord of unconnected irrelevancies.
I note on your other blog that you office space has opened up? Are the two events linked? Plus just did a hallowed post too and thinking I may have misspelt V's name. See how you are increasing even your readers' senses?
About Last Weekend: no, our office has always been open-plan - no connection there. Apparently my granddad always suffered with ear wax so it might be hereditary...! Will pop over now and spellcheck Voldermort's name for you! ;-)
Oh have found a possible use for your excess ear wax...I'm told it would make a great stabiliser for ornaments on our shelves down here, so parcel it attractively and we will make our fortune!
There is a guy who comes into our work on occasions and he has that same dank, damp smell...I'll parcel him up attractively and send him to you...
Amanda: apparently earway makes great noseplugs as well. Now, if only I could wheedle a big enough lump out it would be like putty in my hands...
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