moral of the story;

unless your liver is hanging out of your arse don't bother calling a doctor/ambulance

I woke up this morning feeling somewhat like simmo. You know, the squirts, the pukes, the sweats.

I took a couple of aspirin, ate a pizza, and now I feel great.

So that's my advice: 2 aspirin and a pizza.

I did crumble some Dolcelatte onto the pizza, so perhaps the bacteria in the mould on the cheese helped!

ps - Get well soon!

argh, Simmo.

I was just discussing with a Doctor friend the annoying tendency I have of getting the Jump Up and Turnarounds at Xmas, and he said:

"That's when people get it. It's everyone traveling and stressed, which clobbers their immune system, and then they clump together and eat a lot, which means they pass things to each other."

So, if you're lying there thinking "Why me?" there's your answer.

Fluids, and if you can keep it down, my grandmother used to stop diarrhea with this- start to make rice the normal way except with an extra cup of water. Once the water boils, turn it down to simmer, but only for a few minutes, then pour the water off. Let the water cool, and then drink it. You can mix it with Gatorade or whatever the UK equivalent is to make it more palatable.

That should stop you right up.

Anyone already in 2007? I think Rachi is.


edit: duh. I meant 2008!

Dal and rice is a staple in my family when one of us is ill, though if you have the squits, might be an idea to go easy on the spice. Kidgereeis also good, but is not vegetarian (unless you excuse the fish).

Thanks for the continuing advice, folks. I might try some plain rice with a little salt and some pine nuts in a while.

I am thinking of conducting monologues on gabbly at midnight tonight.

simmo wrote:Not surprsiingly then, I had a sense of foreboding when I woke up at 4am this morning in a cold sweat, shivering and feeling nauseous. I felt really fucking weird in the head too - I think the temperature was making me delirious, there were all these bizarre stream of consciousness thoughts running through my mind and I kept thinking I was Mike Ashley, the owner of Newcastle football club - a remnant of the dream I was having before waking or something? Dunno, but it was pretty horrible. Anyhow, I spent an hour like that before having to rise suddenly andand go and violently vomit my guts up in the toilet.

The delirium of a feverish illness is perhaps the worst part of it. Ejecting from either end brings some momentary sense of relief, even if it's exhausting and repetitive, but there's no relief from laying in bed half-asleep and half-aware, with caviar-toting Premiership scum darting in and out of your added consciousness in their private jets, without even the wherewithal to hope that the Bad Thoughts will disperse.

Electrolytes and carbs in solution are wise advice. Courage, mate.

At my mates New Years party last night his brother started reciting something. He's about 7 or 8. He was talking in an American accent.

"And then Bill said "My son came home saying the fuck word.""

It dawned on me he was doing an impression of Eddie Murphy doing an impression of Bill Cosby. He was doing the entire routine from Raw. It was outstanding.

A little boy doing an impression of a comedian doing an impression of another comedian. From the 1980s! Then just when I thought it couldn't get anymore awesome he hung the phone up and called Richard Pryor. "Tell Bill to go fuck himself!"

Last time I was at a party there I picked up his notebook. He'd written on the first page "If you read this you are my bitch."

I know that kid is going to be an utter pain in the ass for someone, but THAT IS FANTASTIC!

I like him already. I think you should apprentice him to Marsupialized.

Rotten Tanx wrote:At my mates New Years party last night his brother started reciting something. He's about 7 or 8. He was talking in an American accent.

"And then Bill said "My son came home saying the fuck word.""

It dawned on me he was doing an impression of Eddie Murphy doing an impression of Bill Cosby. He was doing the entire routine from Raw. It was outstanding.

A little boy doing an impression of a comedian doing an impression of another comedian. From the 1980s! Then just when I thought it couldn't get anymore awesome he hung the phone up and called Richard Pryor. "Tell Bill to go fuck himself!"

Last time I was at a party there I picked up his notebook. He'd written on the first page "If you read this you are my bitch."

Get this kid on the PRF when he's old enough.