Last night I pigged out relentlessly, gorging on cherries, pineapple slices, toast plastered with hummous, yoghurt and hunks of mature cheddar. I must have looked like some hysterical bulimic. I paid for it around 3 AM though, when I awoke with a savage colicky pain which was only relieved by a succession of copious bowel movements. This morning I felt as if hung over by alcohol, though as it happens, on this occasion I did not imbibe.
However, I was able to give my patients proper value for money and had enough energy left over for a hillwalk in spectacularly fine conditions. Now I am spent, reposing on my sofa watching the girls thrash it out in the French Open semi-finals.
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