Being healthy rocks.

I'm back in the land of the rumbling stomach once again, after a couple of days feeling decidedly peaky. Following a weekend in the country and a now-hazy conversation around me being a 'typical bloke' round the house, I resolved to start pulling my weight a bit more in the form of cookery. Monday went well - some kind of chicken, tarragon and creme fraiche effort, and I had high hopes for Tuesday - fajitas. I'd arrived at Tesco earlier than normal on Monday following a trip to the doctor (see below) and stocked up on cheap meat from the reduced cabinet - hence we had some steak that needed eating. Clever Tattie, with his soon-to-be-out-of-date meat purchases.

The Mexican food, although over an hour in the making, was surprisingly tasty, if a bit spicy. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I felt an immediate urge to rush to the bog after finishing. Won't bore you with the details, but no sooner had I delivered fire and brimstone on the unsuspecting toilet, that I felt overwhelmingly nauseous. Going to bed at 9pm did nothing to quell my body's desire to purge through the medium of vomit, and the only positive to come out of the whole sorry, literal, mess is that I timed my visits to the bathroom perfectly, preventing a more pathetic sight than that which ultimately befell me.

In hindsight, the food was probably not to blame, which makes me feel a bit better - J was mercifully unaffected. Had she been, I hate to think what kind of hell-on-earth our bijou and compact city centre apartment might have become.

It's occasions like this which are not considered when young couples decide to move into a flat with the bathroom attached to the bedroom - bless 'er cottons though, J is doing a good job of hiding the look of fear and disgust in her eyes following my repeated puking through the night.

I had to take yesterday and today off work as a result, and there is nothing more depressing than being on your own whilst feeling shit. What happened to the good old days, when throwing a sickie felt like socking it to the man..? I suppose the key there is the "throwing a sickie" part - actually being off ill is rubbish. More so, given that I'm actually quite healthy normally - prior to this my last sick day was a year and a half ago, and before that it was another 18 months. You build up some kind of pride in that, bizarrely.

As you may (or may not) have noticed, my usual banter is severely limited as I struggle back to normality. I can't work out how much of this is down to illness and dehydration, and how much to the 5 hours of E! News that I endured today, due to nothing more than a completely inability to change the channel....