Burbly tummies, cheese rolls and posh crisps

I write this, dear friends, from my sick bed (poor me). Well, actually, I am okay today. But yesterday I had the most horrendous stomach ache which woke me at 2 a.m. I was boiling hot, drenched in sweat and felt like I'd been punched in the solar plexus by a bull which had got its horns stuck and was wrenching and wrenching trying to free them and I was screaming and pulling the other way to get the deranged bull away from me - ooh, the pain - well, you get the picture.

I got up, stumbling blindly to the bedroom door (remember we sleep in a cave now because of the new blackout blind.) As I went to the bathroom, I thought I heard a cat fracas happening in the kitchen, so I went downstairs to check on Phoebs and Tybalt.
'I'll make a mug of peppermint tea whilst I'm there,' I thought, as peppermint tea is my cure all for all things tummy related.

In the kitchen, all was quiet. Tybalt blinked sleepily at me from his usual sleeping chair and Phoebe was asleep in the 'conservatory' on Andy's giant blue furry cushion that he takes outside to loll about in the sun on.
'What's up?' said Tybalt.
'I'm just making a mug of peppermint tea for my burbly tummy,' I said.
'No you aren't,' said Tybalt. 'You're checking to make sure me and Phoebe aren't having a fracas.'

I ignored him. I thought, if you two behaved around the house at night we wouldn't have to confine you to the kitchen and there wouldn't be any opportunity for cat fracases/ fraci/ fricasees to happen. You see, Tybalt, if given the opportunity (which he has if ever Andy is away from home) will sleep curled up on my tummy or in the crook of my knees. Until about 4 a.m when he will start pounding and padding and trying to suffocate me by sleeping on my head. And Phoebe, if given free range of the house, will try to get into wardrobes which involves a lot of scratching and banging or she will eat cables - telephone cables, computer cables, she's not fussy but she is very loud and squelchy when she does it.

I went back to bed but didn't sleep very well. This is compounded by the inconvenience of a massive lorry which has taken to parking outside our house and leaving at 5.30 every morning VERY LOUDLY. In fact, sometimes I feel like leaning out of the window and shouting 'DO YOU WANT TO SEE IF YOU CAN MAKE ANY MORE NOISE YOU ANTI-SOCIAL MORON?' but I'm afraid I might find the lorry parked through our front wall if I do. So I just get quietly angry instead and have thoughts about becoming a traffic warden so I can issue it with tickets for parking right on a junction.

I digress. I avoided breakfast, but tanked up on more mint tea. I thought 'Best not go swimming.' I sat at home feeling very sorry myself and making copious visits to the loo. Eventually, I thought, 'I have to go to the bank today' (it was in my diary and I don't like being diverted from my pre-scheduled activities) and, feeling that the tummy cramps were abating and fifteen loo visits should have done the trick by now I set off for a quick hot foot to town and back.

By the time I'd been to the bank and had a bit of a giggle at a teen weirdo falling off his skateboard in a quite spectacular fashion (note to self - no lottery ticket this week- it will be negated by the schadenfreuder effect even though the teen weirdo deserved it for showing off and mowing down innocent pedestrians) I felt much, much better. Whatever it was, bug or food poisoning, it had gone and I was now very, very hungry. And as I passed Sainsbugs I had a HUGE craving for white crusty rolls, extra strong cheddar and crisps.

'That's not very healthy,' said Healthy Eating Angel, Sponsored by HM Government -what-do-they-know-big-bunch-of-crooks.
'Listen to your body,' said Cravings Angel, Sponsored by Eat-Chocolate-Fudge-Cake-Til-You-Puke and who hasn't felt such a strong urge for crisps since pregnancy number two, 22 years ago.
'Go home,' said HEA. 'Have another mug of mint tea.'
'Go to Sainsbugs,' said CA, 'and satisfy your craving.'

I stood on the pavement like a rabbit caught on the horns of a moral dilemma. (That mixed simile didn't work very well, did it? And I wish that bull would leave me alone, too.)
'What shall I do? What shall I do?' I thought. 'Surely white crusty rolls, filled with butter and Cheddar and accompanied by posh crisps isn't the wisest of things for a person to eat when they thought they were dying of food-poisoning/ dysentry/ disembowling less than 12 hours ago? Surely a piece of dry wholemeal toast (no toppings) and a cup of boiled water would be more appropriate?'

At home, I cut open my crusty roll, spread it with butter and filled it with extra-strong special reserve, bite-your-head-off cheddar cheese from the West Country. I placed the saturated fat sandwich on a plate and surrounded it with saturated fat, posh potato crisps (cheese and chive flavour.) I toyed with a tomato but thought the acid would set my tummy off again.

And it was bloomin' delicious! (And just what Doctor Denise ordered!)