DIRE REAR

although i didn’t know exactly why at the time, i didn’t feel like doing my blog last night.

but i found out what the reason was for penning but a shorty not long after the shorty had been penned.

have you ever experienced an urgent desire to visit the loo that arrives out of nowhere and with all the devastating force of maximum shock and awe? that was what happened to me in the small hours of yesterday; tap tappity tap on the keyboard, click clickety click on the mouse, listen listeny listen to the radio, and not really feeling too good but not awfully bad. and then…

as opposed to my normal, lazy slouch i suddenly sat bolt-upright. my eyed were wide open. a sweat broke out upon my sweet brow. the fascinatingly technermological body that i inhabit was telling me, in no uncertain terms, that if i was not on that loo, chop chop pretty damn quick, that i would regret it. so i made haste.

a discreet veil shall be pulled over the next ten minutes but, let me assure you, it was awful to endure. after the, ahem, transaction had been completed i returned to my chair a shaken man. by now i felt really ill and in a manner that must have resembled that of a ninety year old man i gingerly reassumed my seat. perhaps some soothing click-tappity-listening would make me feel better. or would it?

about ten seconds after sitting down again i endured a repetition of paragraph four and again made haste in a boggerly direction. i felt dreadful and, after allowing ten minutes or thereabouts to see if i dare do so, i went to bed.

in the morning i got up feeling all shivery and cold. i sat in front of my compluter and listened to john peel’s utterly fab ‘home truths’ on R4. i wore two jumpers and i had the central heating on (i’m a miser; it’s not often that the thermostat sees the ‘on’ position). i had a tartan blanket over my knees and couldn’t even be bothered to swig. but was was this? my body telling me it was time to go for a run? i sat bolt upright with my eyes wide-open. the tartan rug got cast aside and i won the 18 foot dash in gold medal record time. isn’t it funny how when you are busting and can actually SEE THE LOO, it makes the situation worse? standing there twitching like you have st vitus’ dance and trying to rip jeans off with your bare hands isn’t very funny. i felt so vile that i went back to bed.

but this evening i thought i felt well enough to risk a walk to tesco and there i saw some scallops on the cheap shelf. because i am a miser and love a bargain i bought them and ate them this evening. it’s now 02:15 on mothers’ day morning. i’m just waiting for the churning and detonations to kick-off.

radio stats: R4, BBC7, LBC
swig stats: hardly anything. i hate feeling lurgyfied
fag stats: ditto
my two caches stats: no one has reported a find. so i’m glum about that too

boo hoo, dear reader, i have male-illness; that’s the very worst kind.