Monday, 25 August 2008


A night with stomach cramps led me to abandon my tent and head off to Northampton A&E which was really bugger-all help. I didn't get to see a doc, just talk to one on an internal phone (a number which, if I had known it, I could have rung from Sywell, as it happens) and was told that I had gastroentiritis and that really there was nothing they could do for me. The Doc said I should starve myself for about 24hrs and take regular doses of paracetamol, which is what I have done, as well as checking myself into a hotel for a night disturbed by chavvy cretins revving shouting and honking through the night in the carpark - so that I invoked the Premier Inn's "undisturbed sleep or your money back" policy.

I realise now that the sickness I had over a week ago, when I came home, hadn't left me and that the puking during my flight briefing at the start of this week was all part of that too. I have been nauseous all week and should have realised that that and the loose stools indicated a need to starve myself until the bug was pooed out (as my medical ignorance presumes happens). I needed to deal with this earlier, but of course when you are flying (or hoping to), you don't dare do anything that will ground yourself. I just kept swallowing hard ...and because I was concentrating hard in the air, I suppose I didn't notice any discomfort.

I have popped home for a day to bring my stuff back, so that I can return on the motorbike; just as well, because the starter motor conked out at Cambridge services, so that once the RAC got me started, I knew I had to get home without stopping the engine, or I'd need another push start.

It doesn't rain, but it bloody......

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