Itchy scratch

Scratchy itch

Itchy scratch

Scratchy itch

Itchy scratch

Scratchy itch

Not quite a tongue twister but definitely a typing twister. Try it!

See! Told you! Not easy is it?

Being blessed with Celtic genes, I feel like an honorary “ginger” (Note to reader, and just to be clear, I’m not ginger but my skin might as well be). For all things buzzy and bitey, I’m the jam sandwich, sitting on the yellow picnic blanket of Summer.

Researchers have got particularly excited by the whiff of socks whilst trying to discover why some mosquitos seem more attracted to certain people. It would seem that through the simple whiff of our odour, which is dictated by our genes (go figure!), mosquitos will make a “buzz line” for certain people. In simple terms, something in particular people’s DNA produces a specific smell which mosquitos are attracted to – the antithesis of Old Spice or Lynx if you will!   My Mum doesn’t get bitten, my Dad does (they’re both Scottish).

And as we approach this time of year, I know that putting up a fight is futile  and that one way or another they’ll be heading my way after various battles with citonella candles, Jungle Formula Repellant and nets for a veritable Nyotaimori!

Last Christmas I bought my husband a back scratcher for his stocking (I know right?! Insufferable romantic!) He normally uses a wire coat hanger to scratch his back which makes me wince (so yeah, see how this was a romantic gesture).  It has a cat on the end and lives by the side of the bed for any midnight scratching needs. It has a telescopic arm so you can really get into the deepest arch of the back where normal non-inspector gadget arms can’t go! I think he likes it, but occasionally I catch him using the wire coat hanger, for old times sake I presume?

One particularly warm Summer, about 5 years ago,  my ankle started to balloon. I mean not just that “you’ve been on your feet all day” swelling but impressive elephantesque “where the hell has your ankle gone” swell. Despite the pain, I continued to itch it. And scratch. And itch. No harm in a little itch. I had an itch and I wanted to scratch it. Come on, who the hell doesn’t scratch an itch???? Now don’t come over all Mumsy on me with your, “Hands off! The more you scratch it, the more it will itch!” You know you would do the same.

Except, of course, if it’s your private parts – it’s defintely best to leave them alone. Once I  worked in a restaurant where the chef would cock his leg and scratch his balls …. constantly. I hope it was just a habit and that by now, if it was as a result of a horsefly or some STD, that it’s been treated. But yup chefs and maybe medical staff are best keeping their hands off an itch in public!

But anyway, back to the summer of the itchy and scratchy show …. the cycle of scratch, itch, scratch, itch became the new normal and in a state of delusion I managed to hobble to a Summer Fair where I could only sit under a tree wondering why I had come. A friend  took one look at me and then my ankle and told me to go straight to A&E. A strong dose of antiobiotics and proper telling off about scratching the itch later made me feel so utterly stupid and I swore to myself I would never itch a bite again!

So here we are, many years later, and I’m learning about the effects of dopamine.

I’m in the early days of flirting with an Alcohol-Free lifestyle and am truly fascinated about all the unchallenged assumptions we live by. Basically it’s all fucked! We’ve right royally put the dis into functional as a society when it comes to our understanding of happiness. It’s simply all messed up!

Dopamine! Oh the heady heart racing butterfly inducing  PROMISE OF HAPPINESS. Go Get It! You want it! Then do it again and again and again regardless of the disappointing outcome each time. Of course next time it will be different right? Despite the odds stacked against it! Odds which stay the same each time, may even get worse.  

Anyone who is sober curious will relate to the fear of sober socialising. How’s it possible?

I’m attending a hen do and a wedding within the next month. These will be major trigger events and I’m doing a lot of thinking about it. I’ve tried to unpick what exactly is the trigger. Am I worried that I will drink again? No! Isn’t that weird!? But I don’t want to feel the triggers …. I want to out smart them … I WANT TO BAMBOOZLE THEM – to not let them even have a small effect. Because it’s all lies. Dopamine (in these modern times where we aren’t hardwired simply for survival) is the menacing adult version of Noel’s House Party’s “Fibber”!

And the triggers are really quite innocent. It’s strangely not the bottles of wine in our fridge which make me want a drink (they don’t) but let’s start with something as simple as a marquee!!!! Throw in some bunting  and floral centrepieces on the tables and we’ve got a serious trigger situation on our hands! Then the small talk and omg toasts and speeches …. How will I stay away from the cheap champagne!???? And I haven’t even mentioned the sound of champagne popping! Crisp white linen tablecloths and polished wine glasses. I’m starting to sound like a very messed up Maria: “These are a few of my triggering things!” But it all screams “DRINK ME!” ….neon and flashing, bells and whistles!  And of course as a bijoux woman, “Drink me” promises even more  – growing larger in a crowd ….

So, back to the itch …. You know it’s still there! Can you feel it? Go on! Scratch it! Just the once, just a little one! But we  know that the scratching only leads one way! Never has scratching an itch stopped the itch! But god just thinking about scratching it ….

I’m also certain that whilst I’ve changed my mindset about drinking and have committed to being liberated from alcohol, I may still be drawn to the rabbitholes. I haven’t changed who I am, I’ll still get bitten by the mosquito but I don’t have to itch the bite.

So,  I will take my “Ninja-Arse-Kicking-Inner-Alice” to the hen do and wedding and play it forward: if I drink it and grow too tall, I can’t get through the door, too small and I’ll be chased by the cat.  The only good outcome is to cut out the middle man, cut straight to the direct source of happiness – friends, family and, above everything else, love. I’m going to get trading standards to shut down alcohol and its cowboy travel operation. Cut out the middle man to happiness where it takes your money, your passport and your time to then cancel the holiday at the last minute – leaving you grounded at the airport with only the glossy travel brochure in your bag and useless foreign currency in your pocket. It’ll be independent travel to happiness for me now!

Are you a Ninja Alice? What are your rabbitholes?

Whilst we’re considering the hazards for Summer Sobriety, remain mindful of simplicity. And with a few ingredients, create your own controlled chaos – a beautiful mess, An Eton Mess:

Eton Mess:

Make the most Perfectly Unprecious Meringue:

2 large egg whites

100g caster sugar

Method:

Oven on very low (100 degrees C)

Whisk whites until start to stiffen

Whisk in 50g sugar until glossy and thick.

Fold in the rest of the sugar.

Put mounds of meringue onto baking parchment and cook for 1.5 hours.

Break meringue loosely up and mix with double cream and summer soft fruits.