I have seen my future, it ain't pretty
The last 72 hours have given me a glimpse into my future. I have seen what awaits me. I know what I am in for. And you know what? It's not good. It's very very not good.
Let me introduce you to the 4 P's of Manuel's future,
Plot loss, Puke, Pain ,and Poo.
(and soup)
Artists impression of Manuel
aged 36
As Ralph Wiggum so accurately put it, "I have two owies".
Let me introduce you to the 4 P's of Manuel's future,
Plot loss, Puke, Pain ,and Poo.
(and soup)
Artists impression of Manuel aged 36
As Ralph Wiggum so accurately put it, "I have two owies".
I awoke the other morning with a niggling pain in my back. I assumed it was as a result of over sleeping rather than anything more malignant. I was sure my morning routine of lounging, sitting, smoking and eating would loosen the knot from my back. So you can imagine my puzzlement many hours later when the pain had in fact got worse. I attempted to lift my bulk from the couch.
Crikey!
I was bent over at a 90 degree angle. Now I'm no doctor but I was pretty sure that there was something rum going on. I made my way to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of pop and some chocolate from the basket on top. I inched my way back to the couch. And there I sat for hours feeling sorry for myself. And then the oddest thing happened, my voice went. It happened just as LMM came in from work.
"I'm not well" I croaked as if the pain from my back had moved and located itself in my vocal chords.
Clearly LMM was having none of it and it took ages to persuade her that I was indeed sicky bad. The final proof being my inability to finish my dinner. This hasn't happened since I was about 7 and a crazy aunt had put beetroot on my plate. She immediately swung into Florence Nightingale mode. My brow was mopped, my whims were catered to. And then she went home.
But all that was nothing in comparison to what was still to come....
1.30 AM, 3.35AM, and my favourite moment of the day 5.30AM found me throwing up into plastic bags, over the Belfast Telegraph, and even down the toilet. It was super fucking grim. I mean it was like back stage at a fashion show. And all this hours before I was due to return to work. Hell I was chucking into a bag an hour before I was due to leave. Friday night/Saturday morning's sleep was the worst I can remember. Sweats, disorientation, the constant feeling that I wasn't much longer for this world. I evoked the help of god, jesus, allah, and all the superheroes. I pledged that if they saw fit to get me through the night I would make changes.
I went to work all the same.
Probably shouldn't have. I was even more grouchy than I expected to be. My busted back ensured that I was unable to do any heavy lifting or smile. I even asked a pregnant woman to pick a menu off the ground for me. Classy, and a new low for me.
When I finally got home form work on Saturday I was ravenous. Having not eaten since Friday I was dying for something to eat. But I also didn't want to anger the demons in my tummy. I couldn't face another round of puking. So I had two boiled eggs. They were lovely. Not so lovely when they were coming back out again via the same route they went in 4 hours earlier. I know I need to loose some weight but I'd rather do it on my own terms rather than this really rather violent system.
But the worst is still to come.
Tuesday sees the launch of our new spring menu and with that our new wine list. In preparation for this we have the double joy of food and wine tasting on Monday afternoon. Three hours were I get paid to eat and drink! It's my favourite thing in the world. But with my stomach currently being more inhospitable than most of Iraq I'm not sure I can face it. What have I done to anger the gods?
What?
I have never felt as old as I have in the last few days. I was a pathetic sight on Saturday night as I hobbled about the restaurant. I still made more money than the rest of them but I am convinced this was sympathy money. No one wants to see their grandad serving them steak n chips. But if I want to continue doing the job that I love I need to drop a few pounds, lay of the smokes, and realise that sweat pants are for more than sitting about in sweating.
It's time to think about considering maybe looking into making changes.
maybe....
(this also explains why I haven't visited any other blogs in days, but I'll be round later, leave out a bucket or two)
Crikey!
I was bent over at a 90 degree angle. Now I'm no doctor but I was pretty sure that there was something rum going on. I made my way to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of pop and some chocolate from the basket on top. I inched my way back to the couch. And there I sat for hours feeling sorry for myself. And then the oddest thing happened, my voice went. It happened just as LMM came in from work.
"I'm not well" I croaked as if the pain from my back had moved and located itself in my vocal chords.
Clearly LMM was having none of it and it took ages to persuade her that I was indeed sicky bad. The final proof being my inability to finish my dinner. This hasn't happened since I was about 7 and a crazy aunt had put beetroot on my plate. She immediately swung into Florence Nightingale mode. My brow was mopped, my whims were catered to. And then she went home.
But all that was nothing in comparison to what was still to come....
1.30 AM, 3.35AM, and my favourite moment of the day 5.30AM found me throwing up into plastic bags, over the Belfast Telegraph, and even down the toilet. It was super fucking grim. I mean it was like back stage at a fashion show. And all this hours before I was due to return to work. Hell I was chucking into a bag an hour before I was due to leave. Friday night/Saturday morning's sleep was the worst I can remember. Sweats, disorientation, the constant feeling that I wasn't much longer for this world. I evoked the help of god, jesus, allah, and all the superheroes. I pledged that if they saw fit to get me through the night I would make changes.
I went to work all the same.
Probably shouldn't have. I was even more grouchy than I expected to be. My busted back ensured that I was unable to do any heavy lifting or smile. I even asked a pregnant woman to pick a menu off the ground for me. Classy, and a new low for me.
When I finally got home form work on Saturday I was ravenous. Having not eaten since Friday I was dying for something to eat. But I also didn't want to anger the demons in my tummy. I couldn't face another round of puking. So I had two boiled eggs. They were lovely. Not so lovely when they were coming back out again via the same route they went in 4 hours earlier. I know I need to loose some weight but I'd rather do it on my own terms rather than this really rather violent system.
But the worst is still to come.
Tuesday sees the launch of our new spring menu and with that our new wine list. In preparation for this we have the double joy of food and wine tasting on Monday afternoon. Three hours were I get paid to eat and drink! It's my favourite thing in the world. But with my stomach currently being more inhospitable than most of Iraq I'm not sure I can face it. What have I done to anger the gods?
What?
I have never felt as old as I have in the last few days. I was a pathetic sight on Saturday night as I hobbled about the restaurant. I still made more money than the rest of them but I am convinced this was sympathy money. No one wants to see their grandad serving them steak n chips. But if I want to continue doing the job that I love I need to drop a few pounds, lay of the smokes, and realise that sweat pants are for more than sitting about in sweating.
It's time to think about considering maybe looking into making changes.
maybe....
(this also explains why I haven't visited any other blogs in days, but I'll be round later, leave out a bucket or two)
28 People trying to get Manuel's attention:
Sounds like acute workitis. Very common when people return to work after a relaxing break. Normally lasts a day two.
No need to worry, it's rarely terminal though it can turn into chronic cantgivaphuc. There's no cure for that.
most likely, this is transient. when you're really old, it doesn't go away...
sounds like a miserable bug, but at least your innerds weren't staging a mass evacuation at both ends.
fluids (non-alcoholic) and rest are about all you can do. (fucking mother hormones... sorry... can't help it...)
"No one wants to see their grandad serving them steak n chips"
Oy!! Speak for yourself.
Daisyfae is right. Wait until you're my age. Plot loss, Puke, Pain and Poo all day long. Mind you, I don't throw up that often?
Sorry to say it Manuel, but it sounds like food poisoning. Yous hould be on the sick and due to health and safety regs you'll need a doctors note to go back to work.
PS. Where are my questions?
yeah, sounds like food poisioning.
drink a lot - of water.
if you're still alive tomorrow, see a doctor
I'm sure a serving tray could easily be attached to your Zimmer frame.
Get yourself a good pair of orthopedic shoes and you're all set to go.
Poor you ! Hope you feel better in time for the tasting.
If you're still this sick when you read this comment you have major food poisoning. Ugh. Sor.
Even sickly you managed to crack me up:
"I mean it was like back stage at a fashion show."
The best thing for you, my lad, is dry toast and water.
What the hell was wrong with your auntie? she must have been some kind of a monstrous child-hater.
Manuel, I've been sick as well. I thought it was from being molested in bed.
Was it the lunch we had?
You couldn't be pregnant, could you?
You big girls blouse. Strap a pair on will ya? Stop moaning and get a few pints down, you will feel much better....for a bit.
A bad pint. Yes, that's it. You got a bad pint from some Mexican barman in Dublin. More people die each year from bad pints than getting hit on the head with a spoon. Fact!
What you need is a 'herbal' ciggie and a nice cup of tea.
To ease the pain you see.
It's doing the rounds I'm afraid, it is a nasty one!! I'll do the tasting for you:)
Crikey Manuel, sounds rather unpleasant you poor love. Get thyself to the doc if you are no better by the time you read this. I know, I know, men don't go to the doctors but humour me. You want to be right for the wine tasting don't you?
have pity dude. get ur arse to bed ans stay there. The food tasting is good but its only an excuse to "try" the new dishes later in the week at a time whrn you feel better also strangly when its staff meal time... mmm I can still taste the goujons. get well soon man
OH.MY.GAWD. call your doctor! go see your doctor! seriously, sugar, don't fool around trying to self medicate or "let it pass through" you. it could be something really serious!
You poor thing. :( Hope you're feeling better.
"throwing up into plastic bags, over the Belfast Telegraph, and even down the toilet"
I haven't had a reaction to The Belfast Telegraph like that in ages... did Frank Mitchell write a column or something?
Oh, and suck it up ya big jessy! (I'm all about sympathy, me)
two words:
anal fissure
sorry to hear about your owies....
bbb: so cynical......pfft
daisyfae: I hear ya....
Grandad: present company excepted of course....
pseudo: soon, I'm sick!!! c'mon now....
warriorwoman: thanks for the vote of confidence...
mj: huzzah! .....bitch
lksn: no, no I didn't...
boxer: my pain is others joy......
sam: beetroot is the work of many devils.....
medbh: oysters eh....
pgeek: now that would be a challenge....
eddie: christ i must be near death if you're here!!!
sneezy: but that was a week ago!!
dave: make with them then...
lorraine: I struggled through it....
Gypsy: doctors? me? I don't think so...
Niall: goujons? hardly!!
savannah: what doesn't kill me and all that.....
sinead: one will live!
sheepo: I regularly throw up over the telegraph.....
tony: is that a threat?
moody: I have two owies.......never been beaten by a turkey all the same...hehehehe couldn't resist....
Big Jessie....you and BBB, you just love all us clucky women looking after you, well it won't wash with me, you have a little tummy bug that will go away when it's good and ready, in the meantime, don't you have the 48 hour rule thingy at your place?
I have children...I don't DO sympathy!
Age is not an illness....the healthiest person I ever knew was 92, and she smoked like a chimney.
you've been eating the restaurant food again haven't you?! You know what goes in their so you should know better! - Now down to Mickey D's with you for a Big mac and you'll be grand !
Eurgh, sounds very nasty. Hope you get better soon. And who feeds beetroot to a 7-year-old? That's just cruel and unusual punishment...
queenie: I haven't taken a day off work in years.......I ain't starting now.....
quickie: if it wasn't for the chefs fennel and spinach soup i wouldn't have eaten all weekend......
jen: cruel and unusual family.....hehehe
Think of it in a good light, you'll have lost a few pounds by the time you get better!
I reccomend Dandelion Tea, charcoal capsules and a oral dose of oramorph*.
*available from your friendly neighbourhood drug dealer
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