It’s dark and cold and we middle-aged women are run ragged by gift-buying,
gift-wrapping, card-sending, and the purchase and preparation of food – while feeling
guilty that we are not enjoying Christmas more.
Opportunist viruses patrol, eager to invade.
As a teacher I can take my pick of virulent illnesses. They are handed to me on exercise books, they
await me on doorhandles. Sometimes, they
are sneezed right in my face.
So my favourite seasonal plant is not the holly, not the
ivy, not the Christmas rose nor poinsettia.
It is a plant which blooms not in December, but in summer - echinacea.
It is extract of echinacea which boosts my immune system and
wards off the seasonal colds.
Pascoe informs me this is stuff and nonsense.
But I am clinging to my beliefs.
Especially as Christmas is here and I don’t have a cold yet this
year.
Obviously it meant that at Evensong at the Cathedral, I was unable
to participate fully in “the annual festival of coughing”.
It also means that the impressive stocks of lemsip and cough
sweets that I laid down are redundant.
Worst of all, it means I have to find a new excuse for the shortcomings
of Christmas dinner.
But, otherwise, it’s a great improvement.
So next year I shall be sending Christmas cards with an
echinacea motif, weaving an echinacea door wreath and decking an echinacea
Christmas tree.
Happy Christmas.
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