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Any­way, it re­ally IS good to be back af­ter tak­ing last week off, sim­ply be­cause I was an ab­so­lute mess.

A few weeks ago I had an ac­ci­dent, re­ally bashed my head and broke my nose. At first I was more con­cerned about the scars on my face, but make-up is a won­der­ful in­ven­tion and hope­fully they’ll fade in time any­way.

What I hadn’t banked on was the dam­age the col­li­sion caused in­side my head. I was warned about post­con­cus­sion syn­drome, but thought noth­ing of it. Pah! How bad could that pos­si­bly be?

RE­ALLY bad, as it hap­pens. Es­pe­cially as I thought I was re­cov­er­ing well be­fore it struck and dished out its creep­ing possession of my mind, which turned me into a jit­tery, anx­ious, con­stantly-on-thev­erge-of-tears shadow of my for­mer self, with zero lust for life.

Each day for the last month or so I’ve dreaded wak­ing up to the per­son I’ve

be­come. Very BTW, as he’s al­ready not happy about be­ing a cer­tain age, I haven’t the heart to tell my beloved that I’m all in favour of Gwyneth Pal­trow’s sen­si­ble ar­range­ment with sec­ond hus­band Brad Falchuk. The new­ly­wed pair have not moved in with each other be­cause Gwyn­nie wor­ries about be­ing a good step­mother to her hubby’s two chil­dren. “With teenage kids you’ve got to tread lightly,” she says. “It’s pretty in­tense the teenage thing.” It cer­tainly is. Pretty hor­ri­ble some­times, I’d say, and a recipe for con­stant con­flicts, which new­ly­weds, es­pe­cially, could re­ally do with­out.

I’d be well up for a mod­i­fied ver­sion of this cou­ple’s ar­range­ment: par­ents in one house, teens in an­other... craftily fit­ted with cam­eras. Poor me sim­ply put – when your brain is bashed around in your skull, the chem­i­cals that control your moods are whooshed about and, ba­si­cally, dis­com­bob­u­lated.

That’s what hap­pened to me. My GP sug­gested an­tide­pres­sants.

No thanks. Luck­ily, on one of my walks to try and get away from my­self, I spot­ted a sign in the win­dow of a lo­cal chemist declar­ing: “100% LE­GAL – Cannabis Oil”.

I’d heard it was good for anx­i­ety and de­pres­sion, so I shiftily slunk in to the phar­macy and asked about it. The phar­ma­cist quizzed me, af­ter which I re­turned the favour and put my queries to him, tapped in my PIN and walked out clutch­ing a tiny glass drop­per bot­tle con­tain­ing the mag­i­cal po­tion.

It was ex­pen­sive. But worth it. Just five drops un­der my tongue each morn­ing and I’m so much nearer me again. Cannabis is nat­u­ral. Medic­i­nal cannabis oil (CBD) can re­lieve pain and lift de­pres­sion, anx­i­ety and in­som­nia. There are many other claims as to its ben­e­fits, in­clud­ing al­le­vi­at­ing some of the ef­fects of MS.

Thank­fully, fol­low­ing the high­pro­file case of 12-year-old Billy Cald­well who has se­vere epilepsy, which ap­peared to be helped by cannabis oil, doc­tors can now pre­scribe it on the NHS. Call it by its hum­ble plant name, hemp – be­cause that’s what it is – and it doesn’t sound so con­tro­ver­sial.

More wor­thy of con­tro­versy is the fact that last year Bri­tish-based phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal gi­ant GSK clocked up an un­ad­justed op­er­at­ing profit of £8bil­lion largely based on pre­scrip­tion drugs that aren’t al­ways ef­fec­tive. A thought that sud­denly made me feel sick.

Ryanair wor­ries me with its flout­ing ca­sual of Civil Avi­a­tion rules, Authorit the lat­est of which com­pen­sate is re­fus­ing pas­sen­gers whose flights dis­rupted by strikes.

Its gung-ho ap­proach ex­tremely to rules in gen wor­ry­ing when you is to con­sider i SAFELY trans­port cus­tomers their des­ti­na­tions.

Con­cus­sion turned me into an anx­ious shadow of my for­mer self


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