Oooooh, A roadside pasty looked enticing on my long working day, a content of chicken and mushroom afternoon freelance delight held no warning of the week ahead. No Psychic indication in the pastries rippling, or the arrangement of the internal peppery contents to tell me it had a guest that would overstay its welcome.
I first woke from the confectionary desecration crying in my sleep, pounding headache and the belief that Col Gadaffi was shouting in my bedroom, I'm not making this 'shit' up.
Walls were laid bare nothing stayed inside for a week, nothing, even water appeared to be the enemy expelled at force like a councils surveyor report.
My headache was so great that I thought I could feel that half my skull was empty of water and that little electrodes would fire across the top of the surface of my brain, and in doing so I could illuminate a 3D outline in my mind. When i would turn over in bed i'd be able to feel my brain slide and knock against the opposing wall like an old school game of computer tennis but with my brain as the ball.
But the shits, oooooh, those, cramps, feirce, in, their, intent, in, th, ei, r, speedatwhichthey'dsuddenlyexpel anything without little warning.
I wasooo dizzzxy, onmyyy way to thebathroooom, crisps behind myeyeballs, a dressing gown doused in funky smell. "Don't fart Tim whatever you do", I'd say to myself on the way.
When the illness slowly faded and the pasty had finished its business meeting with my body, I remember the joys of food again, eating without fear is such a wonderful feeling that you want to congratulate your own body with winning. Buy it a pint
When I finally took a real shit after the week, I nearly saluted it on its way out of the building and my own.
http://www.timothyfoster.co.uk
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