|An ideal spot for heads on spikes|
Last year, I was diagnosed with IBS – Irritable Bowel Syndrome to you and me. This is essentially doctors saying "Yes, we know there's something wrong with you, with stuck cameras down both ends and in the middle, and we can't find anything. Takes these pills and bugger off."
This means that I take those pills, go to the toilet a lot (perhaps the first case of a man turning into his blog), and watch what I eat. This is because – for example – that if you stuff your face with the mother of all Sunday roasts and half a tub of Ben & Jerry's finest ice cream, you're going to pay the price the next day.
In my case, it's (yes) going to the toilet a lot, but also dreadful acid reflux. And there's nothing like red-hot vomit to make you really feel alive.
So, Monday morning after a fulsome Sunday repast, and I am feeling great. I leave for work half an hour early to miss the traffic, and I'm not five miles down the road before the acid hits me. Nasty, but I'll live.
However, it's as I hit the A33 dual carriageway into Reading that I hit ALL the traffic. It turns out a crucial set of traffic lights on the motorway junction have gone wrong, and nobody is going anywhere. With nowhere to U-turn, it took (and I'm not kidding) two-and-a-half hours to find a suitable escape route.
By that time, the acid reflux had really started, and I'm sure the surrounding cars wouldn't mindd me getting out for a moment to puke against my own wheel arch.
Also, down my leg.
And once I got back in the car with pukey jeans, it was game over.
I was car-sharing, dear reader. Car-sharing with Huey and Rolf. "HUEEEEEY!" I said. "ROLLLLLF!" I cried.
Then, reeking, I bullied my way to a (legal) right turn, went home, and went to bed.
Now, I know how to handle my illness. For eg: Watch what you eat and all will be relatively well, and even on the odd day it doesn't quite work out. My insides have a life of their own, and some days you win, some days you drive home smelling like a tramp's blanket.
However, I'm a reasonable man, and I fully expect some comeback on the two-and-a-half hour traffic jam. If there aren't heads on spikes by Junction 11 in the morning, I'm going to write a strongly-worded letter to the local newspaper.
I might even post it.