AaaaaaaCHOO...!

I've had a bit of a cold this week.  There's a lot of it about and my chances of escaping it were always slim.

Now, obviously, a common cold is nowhere near as bad as Man Flu, so I've struggled womanfully through this week, relying on copious amounts of cold remedies in the vain hope that I could head it off at the pass.  However I woke this morning sounding like a slowed down version of Lee Marvin singing Wandrin' Star, a sure sign that my common cold had migrated south and taken up residence in my chest and upper respiratory tract and I'm feeling proper poorly.

So today, I'm taking a sickie and lolling on the sofa watching old films on TV, while catching up with 'paperwork'... tidying up the website, formatting a few more chapters of my book, pratting about on Pinterest doing some important historical research

On standby I have a selection of medicaments......

... but what I REALLY need is some of this.

Proper ORIGINAL Lucozade

Anyone who was a child in the UK in the 1950s and 60s will remember feeling that we must have been really poorly to merit our mums having to go to the chemist specially to buy this outrageously expensive drink.

The 'Lucozade Experience' was an integral part of my childhood... brilliantly designed to appeal to all the senses.  

First there was that orange wrapper.  The challenge was to get it off all in one piece so that it could be used to look through, transforming already feverish imaginings into the stuff of nightmares.  It made a sound unlike any other type of cellophane and even tasted therapeutic.  If you've never, ever licked the Lucozade wrapper there is clearly something wrong with you and we can't be friends.

The glass bottle had little, tactile dimples, and the top, when unscrewed, released a healing hiss of gas and bubbles.

Poured into a glass, the bubbles raced around, chasing each other up to the surface where they popped with little 'phizz'.

I endowed Lucozade with magical powers, convinced that it would cure me of any ailment.  But only if I was in my pyjamas and dressing gown, on a little bed made up on the sofa. It also had to be accompanied by a soft-boiled egg, cut up in a cup with a little salt, and soggy, butter-soaked soldiers on the side.  

Left to go flat it tasted like a completely different drink.  Still good, but different.

The new upstart Lucozade just doesn't cut the mustard.  Now marketed as an 'energy' drink it comes in a can or plastic bottle.  No crinkly wrapper or tactile, dimpled glass.
It still fizzes and pops but it's definitely lost its lustre as a convalescent curative.  And don't even get me started on the bewildering array of different flavours. 

I mean... Brazilian Guava.  WTF?

I feel betrayed. It was absolutely perfect as it was and didn't need changing.  How on earth am I going to get better NOW?!

Also, this is the view from my corner of the sofa...

*sheesh*