nunoncastors

Yesterday was a write-off. I’ve no idea what caused it but I spent the day feeling close to death. Indeed, death would have been a welcome visitor while I was curled over the toilet slowly turning inside out. It shouldn’t be possible to vomit a kidney but I think I came close. My brain throbbed and ached like it was too big for my skull; my limbs felt as though they were made of dully throbbing lead and the joys of sweats, both hot and cold, shivering fits that curl you up into a ball, and vomiting are something you really need to experience to appreciate.

By about half past seven I’d had enough of being conscious/alive and attempted to make everything better by passing out in bed only to then wake up every twenty minutes with the sheets wrapped tightly around my neck choking me. I mean, I know men tend to be overly dramatic about illnesses, you know, unless it’s something really serious, but if someone had suggested I let them give trepanning a go I’d have fitted the drill bit myself.

The rest of the bank holiday however, before I came down with the ague, was lots of fun. I made my way down to Slindon Base Camp (which is a somewhat over-the-top name for what is essentially a youth hostel) with my fellow cult members and drank, caroused and saw a few things that, frankly, I didn’t expect to see. And I mean really didn’t expect to see.

Still, that’s beer for you.

Prior to this weekend I hadn’t spent much time in the south, not the south east anyway. Obviously I’ve been to Dover and Deal and places like that, but that was a long time ago and I don’t really recall much of it beyond Dover Castle and an unfortunate incident with a bream. Having the opportunity to take a little wander about in one of the few parts of the country I don’t know very well was therefore something of a treat, even if it did rain and snow and blow and bluster.

I know I sometimes belabour the point, but you can’t help but marvel at the little twists and turns life takes when you find yourself, for example, wandering through a wood on the South Downs talking about German bombing raids with people you only know because of a shared interest in a book. It’s a curious world. I like it.