It started with a fish

It started with a fish, just one miserable piece of under-thawed batter-fried cod fillet on Monday night.

That night, stomach heaved and gut churned, heralding the imminent arrival of the dread Dire Rear. I sought to contain it within the ivory walls of the Bowl, but even the combined powers of Harpic and The Glade could not entirely suppress its dark, miasmic presence.

"That stinks," said J, "if it doesn't get better, you'll have to see the doctor tomorrow."

"Yes dear," said I.

Ok, so The Glade was pure embellishment, but diarrhoea kept me grounded and clutching my gut for the last two days. Not quite so bad as last year's bout, but enough to pummel me into a bed-chair-sofa existence. The doc dealt out the usual cards - symptomatic medication, rest, water, no oily stuff, stick to plain porridge.

Damned sickness takes the wind right out of your sails.