I am back from England but in a huge sulk. I have no sense of taste. I don’t mean I’ve started wearing shell suits or listening to Justin Bieber (sorry Beliebers) but I have no working taste buds. My lovely ginger boy, Henry, is demonstrating their usual whereabouts for you above.
I had a fairly heavy cold at the end of last week which lasted a couple of days but realised something was wrong when I drank some of my daughter’s tea without realising there was sugar in it, the slightest grain of which I can usually detect in a heartbeat. Also, I was able to stick my nose in a jar of Vicks Vapour Rub without reeling back with streaming eyes and nasal passages as cold and clear as the Cresta ski run as one would normally do.
So I haven’t tasted any food since Friday – it’s Tuesday now – and I’ve started to get worried. What if it’s permanent? The irony is, I seem to be getting very hungry all the time probably because my brain thinks I haven’t eaten anything.
We asked some friends, who drove over from the U.K. a few weeks ago, to bring us some double and some clotted cream as it freezes well and is non-existent here in France. The plan last weekend was to rustle up some home-made scones and smother them with cream and strawberry jam. I banned it! No way is everybody else going to sit round eating scones without me. Some things would be just too hard to bear.
On the plus side – instead of having a glass of wine with my tasteless dinner I am having an equally tasteless (but healthy) glass of water instead.
I’ll be back when I’m feeling more cheerful.