It's got to taste foul or it won't do you any good!*

* If it doesn't taste foul you won't believe it's doing you any good.

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  You will have to bear in mind that this remedy was made in the 1960s when airliners were classed by the number of masts they had, and the arrangement of their sails.

  Or very nearly.

  "My, but you've got a rotten cold!" I might have said: I certainly said something very similar. Philip's eyes were red, his nose was running and he had a superabundance of sodden handkerchiefs squelching in his pockets.

  It seemed that he'd had the cold for a fortnight and nothing over the chemist's counter had helped, and nothing the doctor prescribed had relieved his suffering one jot. Philip, being of Greek Cypriot extraction might have preferred an iota, I suppose - but I work in jots. "Give me a little time," I said: "come back this evening and I'll cure it for you."

  The moment he'd gone I rooted-out Culpeper's Herball and another book of folk remedies, then having leafed through the books, began collecting things from the garden. The time of year couldn't have been better: I dug some mallow roots and picked a lot of wild rose hips; haws; crabs; blackberries; a few rather hard sloes;

  From the pantry came a big onion; garlic; various spices; flax seeds; sunflower seeds; cod liver oil; carrageen moss; a bottle of Ribena; cider vinegar; brandy;

Doctor Struckoff's Panacea - everything in Latin - specially for Customs - there was Ol this, Ol that, Tinc whatever wasn't oily, etc.





This will eventually be finished - but other matters are more pressing ATM

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