Poisoned...

My own fault – I really must stop getting my apples from that mysterious crone that comes round when everyone is out at work, then, when she gets home, talks to her magic mirror. I was OK first thing. Went to town with Kate, was home by eleven. Sat down around 12-ish with a magazine, a cup of tea (run out of coffee), a nice crunchy Golden Delicious (first apple I’ve had in months), and put the TV on – there was a programme on saying how fruit is good for you. (I felt quite smug really!) Had my lunch, watched Neighbours and Doctors, went to sleep. Woke up. Checked for emails. (None – where is everyone?) Thought it might be a good idea to get some coffee before the withdrawal symptoms kicked in!

Perhaps if you are eating, or planning to – or are squeamish, do not read the next paragraph, which some readers may find offensive (don’t say you haven’t been warned).

It was about 3-ish. I felt this sudden urgent desire to go to the loo. I get this quite often because of the problem I have with wheat – but I definitely haven’t had any. Managed to make it in time (just) – but was a bit shocked to discover that the apple I’d had only 3 hours earlier had already gone through my system. Undigested I might add – it was 100% recognisable as apple. Seems a bit quick!!

Went to get my coffee, thought I’d try a different one for a change – big mistake, it’s revolting – but while I was in the shop I developed a craving for Lucozade – I only usually get this when I’ve got a really bad stomach, so I bought myself a bottle to drink on the way home as I was feel a little dehydrated.

The last time I really craved Lucozade was when I went to London and I had to wait about 16 hours before I found somewhere that sold it. On that occasion, just as I had got on the train to come home, I opened my drink and the bloody thing exploded out of the bottle. Lucozade is probably the stickiest thing with which you can coat the inside of a train! And I had to sit there for the next two hours, sticking to the floor, sticking to the table, sticking to myself! I pity the poor person who had to 'stick' there next – it was bad enough for me and I did it and knew what it was! So – back to today – was walking home, a bit thirsty, remembered the drink, opened it…

What the bloody hell do they put in it that makes it so ultra-bloody-fizzy?? I left a sticky orange puddle outside the clinic. I had to walk home orange and sticky. Got home, prised the bottle from my hand, put my clothes in the wash, de-stickied myself.

“Never mind”, I thought, “At least I can have a nice cup of coffee.”

Still, the day did improve. The husband was trying to open a new jar of jam this evening. He moaned that the lid was on too tight. He tried to use the jar opener – with no success at all – he couldn’t even work out how to do it, he was turning it this way and that, trying to grip the lid, and failing miserably! This was amusing at first, but you know how when someone is trying to do something you get this overwhelming urge to take over because it is just irritating?

When I could stand it no more I said “Give it to me!” But before I used the jar opener I just HAD to have a go without it, and yes – the lid was quite tight, but I opened it without too much effort! “Oh” he said (crestfallen) – then “I must have loosened it.”

“No, you didn’t,” I said, “I’m just strong.”