|Di - the goddess of diarrhoea in Koh Samet|
“It looks and sounds idyllic”, said one of this blog’s curvaceous female visitors, reflecting on my various messages from Thailand - as the noble Earl of Trelawnyd complained that my posts were making already humdrum lives seem even more humdrum. Well okay, I guess it’s time for a reality check, and what could be more real than diarrhoea? Such a fascinating subject for a blogpost don’t you think?
I guess that I am breaking new ground as a blogger, daring to venture into the forbidden territory of bowel movements and if this blog were a TV show I know that many disgusted viewers would already be reaching for their remote controls. Uggh! That sick Yorkshire dimwit! There are some things that decent people just don’t talk about!
How it began, I don’t know. Was it the chicken kebab I bought from a roadside stall in Kanchanaburi last Monday or was it the sliced pork in the school canteen on Tuesday? Maybe it was some bad water from a water fountain at school – the replacement containers sometimes stand out in the heat for days on end.
Anyway by Wednesday evening the journey had begun. The Great Yorkshire Pudding’s famous iron constitution was turning to jelly. By Thursday morning it was turning to gravy as I begged my still showering daughter to vacate the bathroom immediately as there was an emergency of Syrian proportions and evacuation was imminent.
I made it to school where during the day I inspected the men’s lavatory half a dozen times. And I made it home with Frances – she’d spent the day in the primary section of the school. Then I made it to the airport with her and saw her off. That night my sleep was not disturbed by nightmares but by gastric explosions and these continued into Friday when I decided to visit the school nurse. She gave me Imodium pills and electrolyte rehydrating salts.
Saturday was a write-off. If someone had wanted the rendering on their house painting in earthy camouflage colours, they could have hooked me up to crane and with arse pointing westwards I would have had the job done in an hour using the splatter gun technique. I swear I have never had an attack of diarrhoea like it in my entire life. The magical Imodium has had no effect whatsoever so I’m wondering if it’s dysentery. The wind has been well and truly sucked out of my sails even though today – Sunday morning – I am feeling a hell of a lot better and my bowels seem to be gradually accepting the possibility of a ceasefire.
My appetite is usually as remorseless as a wolf’s but on Friday I ate half a slice of toast and on Saturday a small bowl of muesli and half a tuna paste sandwich. You could call it the dyssentry diet – radical but effective.
No Wifi in my accommodation as usual – even though it is promised to guests – so I am going to see if the little coffee shop at the bottom of my soi (lane off a main road) is open in order to post this literary masterpiece and do some other jobs on the internet. I hope that all this reference to waste disposal has not caused too much offence. Perhaps you’d like to post your own disturbing tales of diarrhoea. Maybe Blogger could compile a compendium of such stories as a Christmas stocking filler?