I have been saying for years now that I’m allergic to home, that would be a little village on the Lincolnshire Wolds where Tennyson’s brother used to be vicar. When I’m at home my excema flares up, my asthma decides it’s been ignored for too long and as for hayfever, the dry yet dripping red eyes, the runny nose and cat-like cough (not to mention the Donald Duckesque sneezes) ah yes that becomes a familar friend. It even happens to a lesser extent when I go home in the winter so my Mum has her suspicions firmly planted on Nickersons and strange bizarre experimentations they may or may not be doing in darkest Lincolnshire.
I lived for four years in Lancaster and nothing, that includes nights under canvas out in the Lakes…nothing whereas within minutes of crossing the border into Lincolnshire I feel like I’ve been hit with a half brick in a sock.
France makes me feel at home, the Alps are heaven to breathe in, as are the Andes, Ecuador in the middle of the hot and humid rainforest merely made me horny, Mexico both in the pollution of the city and the haze of the desert just made me tired. As for America, except for a brief run in with Gecko and Vega’s cat, I totally forgot my allergies, just like everywhere else.
Last week I had a sleepless night (as I did last night actually) and the next day I woke up with itchy eyes…and sneezing. For weeks now my fellow sufferers have been coming into the staff room with runny noses and red eyes. Last week I finally joined them and when I saw Skimble’s car I was not surprised, the car is a dark blue, her roof was yellow with pollen. See last week the cedar trees went into maximum production, add to this the wide open pink sakura and maybe we have a reason for my feeling like I’m back home. Japan tags up below Lincolnshire as pollen central.
I wonder if there are any cedar trees on the Wolds?