You know, I was planning on posting something sooner than this; but then, who was I to know I was going to be struck down most cruelly with food poisoning? An unpleasant little bacterium called Campylobacter which I managed to pick up whilst visiting friends down in Wiltshire.
Campylobacter: Bit of a bastard
Not sure exactly what it was I ate. There was quite a lot of eating and drinking going on throughout the weekend. A fantastic steak, a cracking piece of belly pork, some particularly nice smoked salmon, a doner kebab and a fair few pints of some fine local ales. But which could it be? From whence did I become infected? Just how did this cheeky wee bacterium weedle its way into my gut? Alas, I fear we'll never know...
Oh, who am I kidding? It was the kebab wasn't it? 'Twas a filthy, mucky old doner what done me in. No prizes for guessing that I was just a little inebriated when the jolly idea of a pile of fatty mystery meat rammed into a stale pitta crossed my mind. I mean, has any sober man ever truly thought to himself, 'you know, what I need now - what I really fancy more than anything else - is a sweaty kebab from that equally sweaty bloke on the high street who uses the serving tongs to pull out his nasal hairs when he thinks no one's looking'? Well no; of course not. But, like so many bad decisions in life - wearing traffic cones, dancing in public or having sex with ugly women - alcohol makes it seem like the finest idea your addled little brain has ever conjured up.
And, whilst the traffic cones, discotheques and ugly women of North Wiltshire were quite safe from yours truly (trust me, I learnt my lesson in the early 90s), a doner did seem - after some 8 hours or so of drinking - a capital plan. But dear lord, have I paid the price: The headache started late on Tuesday night. The fever, flu-like symptoms and shivers soon afterward. Then, in the early hours of Wednesday morning, whatever was lurking in my lower intestine decided it wanted out - pronto - and (forgive me, here) it had a one way ticket on the gravy train express.
The sickness started later that day and, with next to nothing on my stomach, taught me an interesting lesson in what I like to call 'The Spectrum Of Bile'. It went through various and generally quite disturbing hues and tints until late on Thursday, at which point it settled upon a rather unsettling shade of yellow. This continued, pretty much without let up, for the next 5 days. On the sixth day, I was back to solids, although in very small amounts, but felt this meant I was on the road to recovery. Then, on the Saturday, everything went into rewind - the fever came back, the gravy train started running a twice hourly service and I felt like death.
I tell you - I was proper poorly. Hell, I even went to the doctor so it must have been bad. It was a good two weeks before I felt well enough to venture back into the office again and now - three weeks on - I'm still so weak that I'd probably lose an arm wrestling bout with Tizer. The upside? Well, if a silver lining has to be grasped at, I've lost a stone in weight, which I'm rather pleased about. Oh, and it looks like I might have stopped smoking (haven't had one for 24 days). I was only really a social smoker anyway, but a fortnight of purging my body seems to have relieved me of the urge, strangely enough.
You see, even an old curmudgeon like me can take the positive out of a pretty negative experience. Quite uncharacteristic, actually, which is a bit of a worry. Christ, I hope this doesn't mean I'm growing up; that would never do...
