How peculiar

I have lost my sense of taste and smell, thanks to a particularly nasty cold, and it is most peculiar.

It's astonishing how much you take your senses for granted until you lose one of them. I once lost my hearing for a short time when I was a student and it was an isolating and embarrassing experience. Isolating because I just couldn't communicate with the world around me, or rather it would try to communicate with me and I'd ignore it because I didn't know it was. Embarrassing because I would overcompensate by my own lack of hearing with an increase in vocal volume. Unknowingly.

The whole day, it seems, is pervaded by smells, I just hadn't really noticed them until they weren't there any more.

First thing, for example, going into the warm mugginess of my daughters' bedroom, sour with nighttime breath. Then the first coffee of the day and the joy of opening the jar and pouring the hot water onto the granules. The aroma, the aaahhhh... except not, any more. Now coffee tastes hot, wet and slightly bitter. Breakfast is worst. I usually have Dorset Cereals muesli, a grated apple, a little water and a heap of natural yogurt. At the moment that tastes mushy and sour, so instead I've been eating Cheerios just to satisy hunger and because at least they are crunchy and sweet.

In the middle of the morning I always have a large wide Nigella Lawson cup of real coffee made in my battered Espresso maker. This is a pleasure of sense and aroma. Usually. Back to hot and wet and the memory of good coffees past.

Lunch is usually a wrap into which I toss a heap of salad - rocket, watercress, spinach, coriander - and some slivers of brie, cheddar, ham, some grated carrot, chopped crunchy celery, olives and gherkins. It's a riot of flavour and crunch and makes me drool just thinking about it. Now it is only about texture. The softness of the tortilla wrap, the waxiness of the cheese and the crunch of the salad. Brie and cheddar may look different, but without a sense of smell or taste they are pretty much just a lump of fat.

Then there is chocolate. Don't mention chocolate, the love of my life. It's the thing I adore. Oh the smell of it, the voluptuousness of it as it melts on my tongue! Um, no. Now it is just sweet wax. I may as well sprinkle Tate and Lyle on a candle and eat that. My favourite Green and Black's Almond chocolate is just sweet wax with crunchy bits.

How depressing.

Then there is wine. Wet, slightly sour and cold. Chamomile tea. Just wet. Curry? Hot, salty and wet. Rice? Mushy and, well, wet.

I can't smell things that are nice, like my daughters' hair, for example. I never realised just how many times I sneak a sniff of their hair, it's just now I sniff and there's nothing there.

Cooking is fraught with danger. If I can't smell when things are good, I can't tell when they're bad, either. Or when they're burning.

Then there's sex, which smell is a vital part of. It's a curious thing, suddenly becoming more reliant on other senses such as touch and sight and hearing. Odd how much the lack of a sense of smell affects that too.

I can't wait until it comes back. This is not fun.