Under the Weather

Sorry for the lack of action on this blog over the last few days, but I haven't been my usual self. All seemed set fair for an excellent weekend on Friday. I even stayed in to make sure I was operating at maximum effectiveness for the following day. So I was more than a bit put out to awake on Saturday morning with what can only be politely described as the squirts. At first I thought it would be just an hour or so thing, and continued to look forward to a day at the Bantams, were I had blagged a seat in hospitality, and then on too a Jannetta shindig in the evening, an event always good for plenty of high jinks. But as the clock ticked on I couldn't shake 'em. Still I figured if I went to the game I would come around, you know, a few beers, a pie, maybe even some chips, and I would be as good as new. The Elster considered my lager cure for diarrhea as pure folly, but I laughed, and said "Nonsense! There is nothing that a few ales won't put right." But I really hate to say this, she was right. To be honest, chugging ice cold bottles of lager doesn't make diarrhea go away. In fact the opposite happens. It makes it worse. Rest assured, there was no Munich incident, but it was only so by pure willpower. I even only managed to down four bottles of lager, even though they were complimentary, and I could have drunk as many as I saw fit. My plans for a night of tom foolery were scuppered, and the rest of the weekend was spent laying out on the sofa feeling sorry for myself, interspersed with sprints up the stairs. Lovely. I did, however, finally discover something beer was not good for. I reckon the next time I am struck with Delhi Belly, Tabasco covered Habeneros would a better remedy than lager.

I am, thankfully, returning better health, and will aspire to catch up tomorrow.