A little jaunt up to Hampstead today via Camden. The lockup hasn’t been raided again yet, so I put a few more things in there. Nothing valuable as I can never be sure if I’ll come back to it in one piece. Glad it’s on the ground floor and easily accessible. Those boxes of books have been pissing me off and likely making every journey much more expensive. I need to look after Bergie as he’s off to Majorca again in three weeks or so. I might be clever to get him serviced. Money though.
In Hampstead I assessed the basic Majorca load and then noticed it was almost 3pm. I wasn’t allowed to eat after 3pm because of this damn colonoscopy. It’s a very limited list of permissible food items allowed before the cutoff, and I hadn’t brought myself a cheese sandwich on white bread. God I like good food. Alongside heat it’s definitely one of my favourite things. I stopped at a sushi place and explained the diet to the lovely man at the counter. He made me up some of the best salmon sashimi I’ve ever had, with sesame rice and no veg. Sesame seeds sprinkled on it though.. Damn. I had neglected to mention that I’m not allowed seeds, nuts and pulses. I went and sat in Bergman and painstakingly separated the seeds from the rice before enjoying a surprisingly tasty lunch within the rules. A few stray seeds surely won’t do too much harm tomorrow.
Then I drove home, booted up Sea of Thieves and had a sloop loaded full of treasure when my alarm told me it was 7pm and it was time to start working my way through my first litre of laxatives. A measuring jug, and two sachets. One of them, the big one, has got 100 grams of an osmotic laxative in it, mixed up with loads of different rehydration salts and some really pokey orange flavouring. The other sachet is basically just vitamin C. It’s a berocca with consequences. Most of the thing I’ve taken is designed to help with the effects of the thing I’ve taken. (I also have a little bottle of something that helps babies fart, in case I get bloated). Mix the sachets up with a litre of cold water and gradually drink it over two hours. I realised I was never gonna get that treasure sloop back to port quite quickly and abandoned everything but my book. I ran a hot bath. I spent two hours bouncing in and out of it. Comfort and warmth and cleansing water to counterbalance an unpleasant few hours. I kept on topping it up. Now finally I’m in bed. Four hours have passed since I started sipping that orangey gack. I’m not quite out of the woods yet. Once it’s safe to go to bed though I’m gonna have to as first thing tomorrow morning it’ll be time for another litre of nasty orangey ick, with likely very similar results.
Outside my window I can hear the Saturday night party boat. All the youth dancing. Saturday night, innit. I like to think that my Saturday night has been rock and roll too. In some ways very Elvis. Definitely it’s been unusual and strangely memorable. I’ve not had a Saturday night like it. In between bouts I’ve been looking at cheap and pleasant Airbnb options in the middle of France and Majorca to stop at mid February as I fly down to the sun again for a brief but welcome job. Now I’m adding even more liquid to myself with a great big camomile tea to take my mind off the fact that I want FOOD.
AlBarclay 