There may be a drought in this country at the moment, but I feel like I am drowning.
I have been battling with you for months. It must be at least four. There was one day when I woke up and you had disappeared. Gone, completely. I sang, I danced a merry dance and I smugly paraded my gorgeous, snot-free children before the world. But alas, the next day you were back with a vengeance.
You appear in a variety of colours, ranging from a sludgy yellow to an almost neon green. My subconscious must have been on form the day we chose the colour scheme for our bedroom as you blend in nicely to the duvet covers when the kids arrive for their morning snuggle.
You can strike at any time. Usually when I've just got dressed, or on the rare occasions I have blow dryed and straightened my hair. Sometimes I don't realise until I look in the mirror and am confronted with a scene similar to that in There's Something About Mary.
Your longevity and sheer quantity has lead to a constant crusty nose on my youngest. And almost like a vampire longs for sweet blood, I lust after picking off the jewel-like cluster. Of course this doesn't go down well the host, so much so I can barely get within a one metre of the fella with a tissue in my hand. I have had to develop a new method which involves sneaking up from behind, and whipping my hand round at super quick speed, followed by a burst of song or dance to distract from the inevitable shrieks of protest.
I'm not sure if you are a particularly powerful strand? But my oh my, you can shoot out of my son's nose at quite a speed and go quite a distance. If you're still around next year maybe the pair of you could go for Britain's Got Talent?
As I round off this post, a loud 'aaaaatchoo' comes from the other room. I shout through to my daughter to get a lowdown on the damage. 'On a scale of 1 to 10, what are we dealing with?' She calls back, 'Uh oh, it's a really long one..... oh no, it's okay he's wiped it. On your coat.'
Roll on Summer.