Pynchon

The last time we visited Lorraine's Aunt in Golders Green, a couple of hours after returning home I went down with some kind of stomach bug that incapacitated me for 3 days. The old witch seems to be refining her technique. This time I went down with something just as bad while still sitting on the coach, two hours away from Birmingham. By an almighty effort of iron will I managed to avoid vomiting until I got off the coach and found a rubbish bin. Lucky really. I did have Lorraine's handbag in front of me, just in case. Lorraine winced every time I retched. (It's a nice bag.) Strangely enough I was quite enjoying the reactions of the rest of the passengers to somebody in their midst seemingly going down with the plague. You need to find your enjoyment where you can. That's what my Dad used to say.

So, did Lorraine's Aunt try to poison me, or was it the dodgy duck from the night before? You choose. Lorraine also vomited last night, but just the once, and she went to work this morning feeling fine. I've not been to work today. It wasn't an option. I have been to the Doctor's. He said that as the vomiting had stopped, the best thing I could do was to drink lots of fluids and to rest for a couple of days. He didn't feel the need to prescribe anything and said that it was probably food poisoning or some form of gastroenteritus (sic?) and that I would be fine in a couple of days. Good enough for another day off work, then? What's on the TV on Thursday, during the daytime? I'll have to check it out.

(Slumped in front of the TV this morning there was a story on "This Morning" (cuddly morning TV show, aimed at the housebound and unemployed) as to how this week would be the worst for people pulling "sickies". Oh, I did feel guilty...)

There were signs I shouldn't have ignored. On Monday night/Tuesday morning I didn't sleep a wink and I was farting noxious fumes (and I still am). Tuesday morning I had chronic heartburn. I was OK during the day, but fell asleep for hours at Lorraine's Aunt's house, which I put down to boredom. On the way home I felt queasy after having a cup of tea at Golders Green coach station and... you know the rest, except that I was sweating like a pig and developed lots of spots on my chest. More spots than normal.

Poor me. I am knackered.

I think I'll have a lie down before "Mission: Impossible" (the genius TV series, not the awful first two Tom Cruise films - the third one was much better) starts at 4pm. It's all go, when you're ill.