p part 2

It’s just after lunchtime Monday afternoon, I’ve had a bath and eaten, slowly, for the first time in 24hrs, vegetable soup and some dry white toast. My are guts farting and whining like the shadow cabinet but right now I feel a little better, albeit tired.

On Saturday evening Myfwt picked me up and we went over to her sisters for a birthday supper with her bro-in-law, another of her sisters and the formers 2 and a half y/o nephew resplendent with a passing dose of chicken pox (I’ve had that already so am immune) made up the numbers. Myfwt bro-in-Law cooked the sea bream and squid we’d bought at Whitstable and we ate with a splendid vintage Cava and chatted about nonsense, it was a quiet evening and due to Myfwt and I being exhausted with a big day following and the fact the clocks were going forward we were in bed before midnight where neither of us slept particularly well.

I awoke feeling nunky, slightly hungover, but okay. We grabbed some coffee at 8am from Starbucks and drove to my bro and missus abode in Clapham to pick them up in order to travel to Surrey, to church. On the journey there I was aware that not all was well with my guts, oddly my bro was experiencing similar contractions. Obviously I put this down to the fact he and I were due to stand up and lie within the constraints of some religious doctrine. We had decided to do the godparents thing for the sake of the family on the understanding they were aware that whilst we’d ‘be there’ for our niece we weren’t prepared to actively encourage her to get involved in religion. We saw our godparent duties as one of respect, over and above the nonsense of god/Jesus/church et al.

By the time we arrived after 9am (fucking 9 am on a Sunday!) I began the first of many visits to the chod bin to squirt out the hellish consequence of my over enthusiastic indulgence of fresh seafood, maybe. This action was undertaken within the walls of a sacred place, it felt somehow wrong, despite my complete lack of Christian sentiment this place held some significance, it was where my parents and sister were married, where my grandparents were interred and where I and my sister and bro were Christened.

My bro and I had spent most of the run-up to the Christening winding each other up about the task in hand; we ran a real risk of getting a dreadful fit of giggling and as the service began the omens weren’t good, he and I making gestures at one another (rolling back eyes as if possessed, waggling tongues, devils horns etc.,) for the sole purpose of causing the other to crack up.

I’d not been to a church service since I was 14, the place hadn’t changed at all, it seemed smaller but all the same faces were present albeit older. It was rather unsettling. The vicar kicked off proceedings, he wished my dad a happy birthday and we sung Jerusalem (written by William Blake, a chap who didn’t subscribe to traditional Christianity) and then talked an utter load of twaddle about Man being made from sand and having life breathed into it or something, it really was drivel and didn’t exactly do much to assuage a certain degree of guilt I was feeling about having to publicly exclaim my supposed support for all this nonsense.

Then suddenly my bro and I were up, stood facing the congregation, denouncing satan and the devil -the vicar fluffed up the word ‘evil’ at one point and my bro who was sharing the shit sheet from which we reading shuddered in order to control a fit of hysteria, I bit hard into my lip and coughed, I was on the verge of losing control, it was horrific. According to his missus my mouth was concertinaing as I desperately tried to maintain a grip on my dignity, I even considered feigning fainting to give myself some breathing space. After what seemed like an age we followed the cross down to font where my niece, who was herself suffering from a cold, stoically allowed the vicar to pour water on her head and cross her forehead with anointing oil, the latter action we all had to repeat, the horizontal bar on my cross was over her eyebrows. After more hymns and communion which I was expected to take (I felt very uncomfortable about that too) the service finally finished nearly and hour and half after it had begun. On the plus side my parents and sister seemed pleased enough, Myfwt apparently rather enjoyed the experience and my bro and I were delighted we’d come through it without embarrassing ourselves or the family, all of which helped to sate my feelings of hypocrisy.

Following coffee and a few more cigarettes and evacuations it was time for Dad’s birthday lunch which was inextricably linked to my nieces Christening. The venue was the church hall, another place I’d not frequented since I was a teenager. Mum had worked very hard, she’d decorated the place and organised food for over 60 people and my bro-in-law had heroically sorted the booze. Most of the guests were church types and friends that I’d not seen in years, Myfwt, my bro and his missus were seated with my godmother and my sisters godfather, both genuinely nice people, the latter a true eccentric who I like a lot.

We helped with the spread and sat down to eat, by now I knew something was wrong because I didn’t feel at all like drinking and despite the food I wasn’t feeling remotely hungry, I ate purely out of need thinking that this is what I required to help recovery. The afternoon passed slowly, despite enjoying myself on paper I wasn’t feeling at all well. We ran through the speeches (mine went down very well) but from here on in everything starts to become vague. I was still shitting through the eye of a needle every 30 mins but had also noticed that my stomach was bloated and aching much more than good old-fashioned bellywhack, I felt pathetically weak and my entire body had begun to ache.

I helped tidy up which seemed to take an age, it was now obvious that not all wasn’t well in the P camp, I’d become visibly pale and even moving was painful, like my whole body was made from red raw cock meat.

After clearing up the inner family sanctum went back to the folks for a nice cup of tea. I was aware that my usual exuberance was distinctly lacking and I was now actually feeling sick. When actually ill I’m quite good I’m pretending I’m fine right up until I’m not. I decided I wasn’t fine after saying goodbye to mum, dad, sister, bro-in-law and niece, getting in the car with Myfwt, my bro and his missus and just before setting off, opening the passenger door and laying a good 2 pints of my stomach over the fucking road at some volume, then some more, and then another lot.

I was dragged back indoors feeling better in one respect but still weaker than a crack whores fanny, I then began to shake somewhat and within 20 minutes was upstairs laying more ex-grub in my parents loo. I was put to bed in my old bedroom by Myfwt feeling like a zombie, my guts were in turmoil and I was shaking viciously, it was worse than the plague, really. Everything hurt, despite needing to be sick again I really couldn’t be arsed to make it to the loo, Myfwt helped me there a few more times to rub my back whilst I barked at the bog water before I finally passed out in bed emptier than a burst balloon and shaking like a stevens.

As I slept, Myfwt drove my bro and his missus back to Clapham, dropped off at my flat to get me a change of clothes before driving back to my parents. A good 3 hours worth of travelling. By the time she arrived back at 9.30 I was feeling better, by no means recovered, but enough to be able to survive a car journey without disgracing myself. Myfwt stopped off to get me some bum fodder and soup and I got back home at 10.30 feeling like a used colostomy bag.

I managed to watch the MotoGP, which I’d taped and email work to tell them I wouldn’t be making their acquaintance the following morning. Apart from shitting myself in the middle of the night, clearly an ill managed fart, I’ve had no more drama. In addition to writing this the day has been spent sleeping, operating the washing machine and half watching TV. I’m feeling better but have no idea if work will happen tomorrow, put it this way, if I’m still like this it’ll be another day at home resting up.

I’m still trying to work out the cause of this malaise, using Myfwt and my bro as food-poisoning placebos it seems that it was something I ate that they didn’t, no idea what though, or I’ve either contracted some bug or other.

Btw, if this reads like more bollocks than usual please remember that I’m not firing on all cylinders.

4 responses to “p part 2

  • Swineshead

    ‘After clearing up the inner family sanctum’


    Enjoyed this. Why does your misery make good copy?

    Get well soon, oh man of weak constitution.

  • shleppy

    My goodness you’re sick!! I almost thew up reading this!!
    You must get some gravol and imodum for situations like this.
    Hope you fell better soon…

  • Napoleon Cockaparte

    No bloody sympathy for you whatsoever. First, as an Ulcerative Colitis sufferer, I can confidentally say you wouldn’t know what proper diarrohea was if it kicked you up the arse, son. Secondly, it’s funny that you got your pathetic version of the shits after gorging on oysters – the most poisonous foodstuff available to mankind. Serves you right for eating pretentious filth. I hope you fucking suffer.

  • piqued

    Dear NC, I’m fucking glad you have ulcertativers collywotsit, you hear me, glad


    *is a bit sick*

    *dances again*

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