from the Gastro-Intestinal Dept.

The women amongst you, will know that when men get ill, they fall into one of two distinct categories.

The Martyr
"Don't worry about me. I'm fine. (cough, splutter) I'll just finish re-roofing the garage, (wheeze) and painting the bathroom, and then maybe, I'll think about dying in a corner somewhere."

The Hypochondriac
Needs no explanation really. The majority of guys fall into this category. For them, any head cold is the flu, and they may not make it through to the next sunrise.

Whilst they think nothing of your monthly period pain, their cutting themselves with a Stanley knife whilst attempting yet another poorly considered DIY project, is the worst injury to happen in the Western world, since that poor lad in Reservoir Dogs got a rather more close shave than he'd have liked.

As For Me...
I fall somewhere between the two categories. I demonstrated this, this weekend.

At some point, I'd eaten something with wasn't 100% healthy goodness, and got food poisoning.

I'm not sure if it was from the dinner on Friday, at The Cheshire Cat, or the result of my sushi-making exploits on Saturday night.

So Sunday, having been awake until 4am the night before, I awoke at 7.30am, with what felt like the entire cast of this movie staging a recreation of the film inside me. In fact, at one point I could have sworn I heard Gordon Jackson and Donald Pleasence arguing over who was going down the tunnel first.

I had a lunchtime meeting arranged, and so dosed myself up with enough pharmacueticals to be mistaken for a branch of Boots, and set off out.

When I got home, the drugs had started to wear off, so I quickly set about cleaning the house, with what energy I had left. This folks, is the martyr element at work.

After that, I retired to my bed, wherein my temperature skyrocketed upwards, and I started fading fast.

Any promises I made, to any of you via Instant Messaging, during that period, are null and void. In fact, it's entirely possible that you may have been IMing Miles, who was also on the bed, with the iBook was between the two of us.

Miles has no power of attorney over me, however, he tells me that any offers of walks or dog biscuits are valid, and he looks forward to getting the goods.