a somewhat pukey day

Last night, out for my "retirement do" at a restaurant in town. I had specified Indian cuisine, but my partner had said "some people don't like curry", so I was forced to choose an alternative venue. I was intrigued as to who the curry-disliker might be; turns out it was herself! Bit selfish, that, I thought. But in the event everyone turned up and it was good evening generally. They bought me bottle of 16 year old Lagavulin, a really splendid choice for which I was most grateful. My nurse was full of tales about how the patients were bereft on hearing of my partial departure. But, I told her, no one is replaceable. I mean, what if I were knocked down by a bus, or, say, nibbled to death by an okapi, well, they'd just have to manage, wouldn't they? I'd soon be forgotten and people would simply start relating with whoever replaced me.

This morning, out to the coast to pick up my mum and go to the wedding. But no sooner had the bride walked down the aisle than my mum started to complain of nausea. My wife escorted her outside, and she only just made the door before she lost her breakfast in an orgy of retching and honking. I was left with no option but to take her home. I secured a Sainsbury's "bag for life" which performed sterling service on the journey home. Sadly it is no longer a "bag for life". More like a bag for vomit; obviously it had to be abandoned.

I manoeuvred her upstairs to her bed with some difficulty and, trying (but failing) not to look, I got her out of her clothes and into her night attire; finally tucking her gently into bed. Poor thing. She looked terrible, rapid pulse, the classical clammy skin of a "cold sweat" and looking deeply ashen-faced. I waited for her colour to improve, which it did in a few minutes, once settled in familiar surroundings, so I left and returned to the festivities, such as they were. I was late for (school) dinner, but it was eventually brought, microwaved to an acceptable temperature, though somehow bleached of all taste.