About five hours ago, at work, I started getting the the familiar pains in the belly that herald the necessity to spend some considerable time on the dunny (to accomodate my lower gastrointestinal contents) with a bucket (to accept my upper stuff). It’s been about three years since I last had a ‘gastric upset’ but you never forget the signs.
I belted from work, hoping that I would get home before the ‘calls of diseased nature’ would wreak their havoc on my entire being, and I got lucky.
a) I didn’t spew or shit my pants on the train home.
b) Since then, the pain has fucked off.
c) My daughter rang me 1/2 hour ago with complaints about the same thing, and since SHE bought and prepared my lunch today, it’s all her fault.
