Fever Pitch
This week, I am mostly ill… which I believe I allude to further in the following…
This week I had great plans to bring you a detailed review of my trip to the wild, wild west of America - Arizona to be exact - where I, and fifteen other sedate fellows, enjoyed seven days of golf interspersed with a spot of antiquing and one or two museum visits. Those plans swiftly disappeared out the window however when I was struck down with a mysterious illness towards the end of the trip and have remained bedridden and delirious ever since.
Now I realise that some of you (ladies?) may be shaking your heads in disbelief and pooh-poohing the whole notion that a human male could contract anything remotely resembling a genuine illness. Let me assure you though that my pain is very real, so much so that I’m confident the so-called “agony of childbirth” would seem like a weekend at Disney World on happy pills in comparison. My condition, although as yet undiagnosed, is undoubtedly serious, a fact underlined by two major symptoms which have confounded the best medical brains on both sides of the Atlantic.
1. I weigh less now than I did a week ago.
This is completely unheard of for any human male who has ever undertaken a golf/antiquing/museum excursion to the United States.
2. I cannot stomach the thought of eating any more pizza.
“Nurse, get me a frickin’ psych consult, STAT!” was the hysterical reaction when I dropped this bombshell in the emergency room last Friday evening.
Now that I’ve made the case for the authenticity of my ailment I will spare you any further detailed description of the cramps, the sweats, the retching, the aches or the myriad of strange substances oozing from every bodily pore. Instead, I will try and battle through the hallucinations brought on by fever and bring you my best recollection of what I’m sure was a wonderful holiday.
The Outgoing Flight
The quickest ten hours of the week where nothing controversial happened at all and the British Airways cabin crew had absolutely no cause to shut the bar due to any inappropriate behaviour or raucous singing. A joy from beginning to end.
The Golf
New standards of excellence in the game were achieved as my squad of eight birdied every hole they played and definitely did not lose their big shiny trophy to a better and more deserving team.
The Accommodation
The Bareback Mountain Country Club & Spa where the fellows would round off each punishing day in the desert sun by enjoying a herbal tea together in the hot tub. In my more lucid moments, I can still hear the gentle sound of contented snoring rolling across the plains like graceful tumbleweed.
The Locals
A strange and menacing bunch of people, especially those in the service industries, who think it’s perfectly acceptable behaviour to engage in polite conversation, smile a lot and pass on their sincere wish that you have a nice day. A disgrace to their nation.
The Antiquing
The fever has left my memories of this aspect of the tour a bit hazy but I do recall some mention of someone having picked up a bargain at one of the night markets. “Got his hands on some ancient jugs” is the phrase that comes to mind which I assume was some reference to age-old Navajo water-carrying vessels. Should look a treat on the old mantelpiece back home.
The doctors tell me it’s just a matter of time now before the fever breaks and I’m able to look at a carry-out menu again. Until then, I have my big shiny trophy to get me through the darkest hours. If only I could remember where I put it.
This week I had great plans to bring you a detailed review of my trip to the wild, wild west of America - Arizona to be exact - where I, and fifteen other sedate fellows, enjoyed seven days of golf interspersed with a spot of antiquing and one or two museum visits. Those plans swiftly disappeared out the window however when I was struck down with a mysterious illness towards the end of the trip and have remained bedridden and delirious ever since.
Now I realise that some of you (ladies?) may be shaking your heads in disbelief and pooh-poohing the whole notion that a human male could contract anything remotely resembling a genuine illness. Let me assure you though that my pain is very real, so much so that I’m confident the so-called “agony of childbirth” would seem like a weekend at Disney World on happy pills in comparison. My condition, although as yet undiagnosed, is undoubtedly serious, a fact underlined by two major symptoms which have confounded the best medical brains on both sides of the Atlantic.
1. I weigh less now than I did a week ago.
This is completely unheard of for any human male who has ever undertaken a golf/antiquing/museum excursion to the United States.
2. I cannot stomach the thought of eating any more pizza.
“Nurse, get me a frickin’ psych consult, STAT!” was the hysterical reaction when I dropped this bombshell in the emergency room last Friday evening.
Now that I’ve made the case for the authenticity of my ailment I will spare you any further detailed description of the cramps, the sweats, the retching, the aches or the myriad of strange substances oozing from every bodily pore. Instead, I will try and battle through the hallucinations brought on by fever and bring you my best recollection of what I’m sure was a wonderful holiday.
The Outgoing Flight
The quickest ten hours of the week where nothing controversial happened at all and the British Airways cabin crew had absolutely no cause to shut the bar due to any inappropriate behaviour or raucous singing. A joy from beginning to end.
The Golf
New standards of excellence in the game were achieved as my squad of eight birdied every hole they played and definitely did not lose their big shiny trophy to a better and more deserving team.
The Accommodation
The Bareback Mountain Country Club & Spa where the fellows would round off each punishing day in the desert sun by enjoying a herbal tea together in the hot tub. In my more lucid moments, I can still hear the gentle sound of contented snoring rolling across the plains like graceful tumbleweed.
The Locals
A strange and menacing bunch of people, especially those in the service industries, who think it’s perfectly acceptable behaviour to engage in polite conversation, smile a lot and pass on their sincere wish that you have a nice day. A disgrace to their nation.
The Antiquing
The fever has left my memories of this aspect of the tour a bit hazy but I do recall some mention of someone having picked up a bargain at one of the night markets. “Got his hands on some ancient jugs” is the phrase that comes to mind which I assume was some reference to age-old Navajo water-carrying vessels. Should look a treat on the old mantelpiece back home.
The doctors tell me it’s just a matter of time now before the fever breaks and I’m able to look at a carry-out menu again. Until then, I have my big shiny trophy to get me through the darkest hours. If only I could remember where I put it.
posted by Neil @ 12:29 am
1 comments
1 Comments:
Hmm sounds like some sort of karmaic illness induced by far too much pleasure, pizza and p.. golf.
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