Posts Tagged ‘Health’

A few months ago I made my first ever visit to a Costco store. The huge American chain of membership cash & carry stores has branches all over the world; I broke my Costco virginity in the exotic climes of Milton Keynes.

In Costco MK I managed to pick up a few bargains for myself. Aside from a rather nice jacket and a really warm full-length coat, I saved a fair amount of money on a bulk-buy of red wine, a year’s supply of red onion chutney (eaten within a month) and a 2.5kg tin of corned beef (a Christmas present for my brother. He still hates me.). But the real saving came when I purchased one-hundred and forty-four Persil Bio Gel washing tablets for £16! At two tablets per wash, that’s seventy-two washes, which is a year’s worth for a singleton like me!

But there is a problem…

Since I started using the Persil washing tablets my clothes have become uncomfortably itchy. I’ve tried adding fabric softener and tried using only one tablet per wash, but it has made no difference – my clothes are itching me like crazy! Of course I could change my brand of washing tablet, unfortunately that would still leave me with about fifty washes-worth of these bloody Persil Bio scratch-tablets to get rid of. I’ve since reverted back to my usual cheap-o-Asda branded washing capsule things, saving the Persil itchy-tablets for washing any non-clothing items.

I’ve learned the lesson that some bargains are not as good as they seem.

It was back in the mid-nineties that I discovered I was short-sighted. It was when I was at a Star Trek convention with my cousin Samantha.

That’s right, you read correctly, a Star Trek convention.

I discovered that I had poor vision when we were sat in a hot, sweaty conference room with a few hundred fellow Trekkies at the Leicester Holiday Inn. We were sat listening to various luminaries giving entertaining talks about their time in the Star Trek universe. The charming George ‘Mr. Sulu’ Takei was present, as was the rather witty Max Grodénchik (Deep Space Nine’s half-wit Ferengi ‘Rom’) who had managed to win the audience’s adulation with a comedic re-enactment of Ferengi mating rituals.

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In some strange way, I am sort of glad that I have managed to procure myself an evil case of athlete’s foot. You see, it’s probably the only sporting ‘accolade’ I will ever receive.

A natural born loser, having been the child who always came last at school sports day, the person who always potted the black at the wrong time in a game of pool, the card player who can never complete a game of patience, I have always consigned myself to never owning, let alone filling a trophy cabinet. To me, this case of athlete’s foot is my bronze medal, my engraved tankard, it is my ironic prize for being inept at competition; a sports-based ailment.

Of course, if there was such a thing as swimmer’s wind or jogger’s sinuses, I’d be a gold medallist by now!