A nose for trouble

The other day I was washing my hands when I noticed in the mirror that I had a blemish on the bridge of my nose. It was a blotchy, brownish, speckled discoloration, slap bang right in the middle of my conk. Aye-aye, that’s new, I thought to myself, with a shrug. I didn’t pay it too much attention, because to be honest waking up to discover spots, boils, rashes and what we used to refer to at school as ‘the lurgy’ is pretty much an everyday occurrence. In fact, if I woke up one morning to find the image of Christ peering through my chest hair, I wouldn’t be too alarmed. It certainly wouldn’t put me off my Sugar Puffs. I’m a sensible sort of chap. Not one to get irrational over a rash. But as I’ve written before, I have been making more of an effort to listen to what my body is trying to tell me. So throughout the day I tried to think what my mysterious nose blemish could possibly mean. I’d taken all my usual medication in all the right doses at the usual times. I hadn’t eaten anything ‘risky’. I hadn’t had any alcohol. My bowel movements were what I would now describe as ‘normal-ish’. I wasn’t feeling tired, run down or stressed. Nor did I feel bloated or have any abdominal pains. No achy joints, no nothing. All in all I was feeling pretty darn good. I just happened to have a brown mark on my schnoz. No big deal, what do I care if people stare? Let ‘em have a good look at the funny man with the weird nose. Roll up! Roll up! You’ve been bamboozled by the bearded lady and you’ve been knocked for six by the four-legged boy, but, ladies and gentlemen, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve had a gander at the incredible, the unbelievable, the fantastical, white man with a black man’s nose! I exaggerate, but it did kind of stick out. So when I got home I decided to give my nose a closer inspection. Under the clinical bathroom lights I was able to see the mark clearly. I was also able to deduce the cause. It turns out it was something I’d drank. The brown mark on my nose was in fact chocolate powder from the rim of a mug of hot chocolate I’d had that morning. It seems all along the answer wasn’t so much under my nose, but on it. Pillock.