When the Festival of Me is Hit in the Guts with Gastro

8:00am - I wake up feeling......strange. It's difficult sensation to describe. I'm not feeling "unwell" per say, it's like a combination of feeling light headed, spacey and just.....strange. Never mind, it's time to press on as I'm going shopping with R. this morning :D

9:45am - On Oxford Street where it's pretty much deserted (score to morning week day shopping!). Even Primark is deserted with clothing neatly in their place on hangers for once!


10:37am - Still feeling spacey, but trying to ignore it. I'm still feeling well enough to poke fun at Peter Andre anyway.


11:05am - We break from shopping to have a cup of tea. I assume that the warm tea might help this strange light headed feeling dissipate, however no such luck.

2:00pm - I spy some brown boots on sale in Benetton. (Obviously nobody else could fit into them). I'm hesitating so we leave them and head to Brown's.

2:27pm - I drag R. back to Benetton as I've changed my mind and have decided to get the boots. Obviously nobody else has managed to fit their feet into these in the meantime.

3:00pm - Champagne time!


Mmmm. Little cakes and sandwiches.


E. looks somewhat scary with that knife.



My smile seems to be getting wider and wider - that strange feeling's taking over me (and no, it's not the champagne).


And out comes the birthday (cup)cake!



After high tea, R. comes back to the flat and we hang around and chat until about 6pm. JY presents me with a gift (how sweet!) and then comments, "Geez, you're so old," but then in the same breath adds that she still perceives me as a kid. Geez, thanks, I guess..... Then JY and I head out for some Malaysian food (where I can only force myself to eat about 1/8th of my meal - why am I feeling so strange?) before heading to the West End to see Avenue Q. Towards the end of the musical, I start to feel an ever growing wave of nausea. We skip dessert and then head straight home and then I head straight to the bathroom.

11:35pm - Feeling better after puking. Maybe I'll be okay now.

2:25am - Fifth trip to the toilet. Who am I kidding? JY has kindly given up her bed, and I'm feeling too sick to refuse. Doctor Aunty in S'pore is consulted and advises JY that I should try and sleep it off, and for JY to make Chinese porridge later that day.

3:40am - The Festival of Me is officially canceled:
No pies and mushy peas @ The Camel (Globe Rd, Bethnal Green, E2 0JD)
No cake @ the Euphorium (79 Upper St Islington, N1 0NU)
No trip to "Pinjabi-land" aka Southall for Mirch Marsala or dessert at Jalebi Junction.
Boooo.

Saturday is spent mostly running to the toilet and dry retching. :/
Sometime in the afternoon, D. calls to see if I am okay.

"So, what's the gossip in London," D. says. "Mmmm?" I say somewhat delirious.
"I heard X. is seeing someone." D. continues. "Do you know who it is?"
"D., how am I suppose to know? I'm not even living in London! You're the one who's here!" I say.
The conversation ends shortly after that as I have to rush to the toilet again.

Sunday: No longer dry retching but feeling shit nonetheless. I spend the morning watching "Come Dine with Me" on Youtube before heading to Stansted to catch my flight.

On the Monday, one of my colleagues asked me whether I had been retching and puking my guts out on the weekend as she and her three young children had all come down with the gastro bug. Then I find out that six other people at work had exactly the same thing over the weekend, and I had to curse them all. It's one thing to be sick in Ireland (I mean, the old man's pub or the cow isn't going anywhere,) it's another when you have to cancel almost your whole entire festival. BOO.

My birthday better be amazing next year :/