12th May Anemia or amnesia...you tell me

First it was my hand held kitchen whisk. A possible casualty suffered whilst moving house at the back end of May 2020. Small enough to get mislaid whilst packing, elusive enough to remain hidden when unpacking after my 7 mile journey across the city. Now comes the far more worrying discovery that I am iron deficient. And by that I do not mean that I am suffering from anemia, although that my explain my snail like running. Rather it means that I am missing an iron. 

This is worrying on several levels. First, my iron is missing, which is I have to admit a worry and yet as I soon discovered also an exciting way to spend a couple of hours yesterday afternoon looking in every cupboard, wardrobe, drawer, bag and box trying to find where I might have put it. Without success.

Far, far more worrying is that the missing iron reveals that my lifestyle has been such since the first lockdown started, that until yesterday when I wanted to find it, I have obvioulsy not needed said steam iron in order to look anything like neat and presentable. And that just about sums up who I currently am: a man who has slowly but surely been crumpling into creases.



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