Bloooarghh
Ahh, the joys of food poisoning. I'd forgotten how much fun the bacterial weight loss programme could be.
This blog may take a while to complete as I keep having to make the short dash from my study to the bathroom. I won't be any more specific than that; the first rule of horror is to let the reader's imagination do the work.
So, I went to Aberdeen. Anyone who needs to know what happened up there can get a much more detailed description from Mr Stuart, complete with my photographs. All in all it was a great trip and very enjoyable. I got to meet Agent Phil (he's not that short, really) and the delightful Jane, Sarah and Emma from HarperCollins. I caught up with some old friends, bought a few books and ate more canapes than Mr Stuart. And I went to a swanky fish restaurant on Union Street that, in all honesty, I can't recommend to anyone (so I won't mention its name). To be fair, I don't know that it was the Seafood Milange that caused me such grief (and continues so to do), but given the choice of things eaten, it's the best guess. I should have known better than to eat something that was misspelled on the menu (unless it was meant to be some kind of North Italian pun).
(short pause)
Things were fine on Wednesday night/Thursday morning. In the great scheme of things I'd hardly drunk anything at all, so I had no hangover. But as Thursday progressed I began to feel progressively ropey. I soldiered on as manfully as I could and by the end of the day Stuart and I had solved the great staircase conundrum (coming up with a neat spiral design that sweeps from the ground to the attic floor in a continuous arc that will be fun to slide down), but not the naming of book two enigma. Once Mrs Fiona had returned from work and exercising the boy-rat Jasper, we had a fine meal and talked toot until the witching hour before retiring. Very pleasant, except for the growing headache trying to force my eyeballs out through my nose.
(short pause)
And on to Friday. By now I had come to the conclusion that my woes were not alcohol related, which in some ways was a relief. I left Casa MacBride at about half ten, and proceeded to Fife (where Mrs Fiona is from, you know). Not an easy journey with a dicky tum. Friday afternoon you don't want to know about. I certainly don't want to relive it. On Saturday morning, I felt a bit better and so decided to attempt the seven hour drive home. Not fun, not fun at all. But I made it in one piece and the car doesn't need a professional valet inside.
(short pause)
Now I'm left with a dull, throbbing headache that laughs at my attempts to drug it away, and a stomach that seems unwilling to contemplate food. Any thoughts of doing some meaningful work this weekend have long since evaporated. Nothing for it but to blog. And watch whatever crap there is on the telly. And make frequent trips to the toilet.
But apart from that it was a good trip north. Honest ;}#
This blog may take a while to complete as I keep having to make the short dash from my study to the bathroom. I won't be any more specific than that; the first rule of horror is to let the reader's imagination do the work.
So, I went to Aberdeen. Anyone who needs to know what happened up there can get a much more detailed description from Mr Stuart, complete with my photographs. All in all it was a great trip and very enjoyable. I got to meet Agent Phil (he's not that short, really) and the delightful Jane, Sarah and Emma from HarperCollins. I caught up with some old friends, bought a few books and ate more canapes than Mr Stuart. And I went to a swanky fish restaurant on Union Street that, in all honesty, I can't recommend to anyone (so I won't mention its name). To be fair, I don't know that it was the Seafood Milange that caused me such grief (and continues so to do), but given the choice of things eaten, it's the best guess. I should have known better than to eat something that was misspelled on the menu (unless it was meant to be some kind of North Italian pun).
(short pause)
Things were fine on Wednesday night/Thursday morning. In the great scheme of things I'd hardly drunk anything at all, so I had no hangover. But as Thursday progressed I began to feel progressively ropey. I soldiered on as manfully as I could and by the end of the day Stuart and I had solved the great staircase conundrum (coming up with a neat spiral design that sweeps from the ground to the attic floor in a continuous arc that will be fun to slide down), but not the naming of book two enigma. Once Mrs Fiona had returned from work and exercising the boy-rat Jasper, we had a fine meal and talked toot until the witching hour before retiring. Very pleasant, except for the growing headache trying to force my eyeballs out through my nose.
(short pause)
And on to Friday. By now I had come to the conclusion that my woes were not alcohol related, which in some ways was a relief. I left Casa MacBride at about half ten, and proceeded to Fife (where Mrs Fiona is from, you know). Not an easy journey with a dicky tum. Friday afternoon you don't want to know about. I certainly don't want to relive it. On Saturday morning, I felt a bit better and so decided to attempt the seven hour drive home. Not fun, not fun at all. But I made it in one piece and the car doesn't need a professional valet inside.
(short pause)
Now I'm left with a dull, throbbing headache that laughs at my attempts to drug it away, and a stomach that seems unwilling to contemplate food. Any thoughts of doing some meaningful work this weekend have long since evaporated. Nothing for it but to blog. And watch whatever crap there is on the telly. And make frequent trips to the toilet.
But apart from that it was a good trip north. Honest ;}#
Comments
And Wales to Aberdeen is a long way to go for food poisoning. You could probably have got the same effect from licking a dirty sheep and saving yourself the journey.
But we were glad to see you anyway ;}#