Wednesday, April 22, 2009


Yesterday afternoon I was sitting at a press conference of a soon to be retired MP when the first stirrings happened.

Deep down in the recesses of my gut things began to get a bit squirelly. You might know the feeling. It's when you think your OK but deep down somewhere inside you have this suspicion there's a little demon that's about to fuck you up.

The longer the press conference went, the worse I felt. And, boy, did it go on. For nigh on 50 minutes we were treated to some of the finer points of law on legislation around property rights and ownership. Half an hour in and I really wasn't feeling too good. 10 minutes later I was feeling even more rotten and lurking in the back of my mind was the nagging suspicion I really was about to throw up. Not something you want to do at the final press conference of a MP who's had a three decade political career.

So as the presser dragged on I became increasingly scratchy. And I feel I really should apologise to my colleagues who were at the event too. My apparent shortness of temper was nothing to do do with the continuing questions. It was the fact I really wanted to get the hell out of there before something truly dreadful happened.

Sure enough just minutes after the event was over I was hunched over a toilet emptying the very depths of my stomach. Much to the discomfort and dismay of the person that happened to walk into the bathroom halfway through.

And that's pretty much been the pattern for most of last night. Horrendous projectile vomiting on the hour every hour. Feeling like my guts have been forcibly wrenched from my insides on a long length of dirty rope and wondering where the hell it was all coming from. Surely after the third or fourth spew there can be nothing left to lose? But no it seems stomachs are like the Tardis - they can fit more on the inside than you'd ever suspect.

Every muscle from my thighs to my throat have had the most rigorous workout they've had in ages. Never mind the ab-master - if you want to tone your abdominals try chowing down on raw chicken and let the salmonella do the rest. I swear to God the crunchies you do when dry retching are far more intense than anything you can achieve in a gym.

Still, as bad as last night was, it pales in comparison to this experience. I reckon I've got off lucky.

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