hotfat

It was just after lunch on Friday when a colleague of mine let out a single cough and fell off his chair with a loud ‘FLOMP.’ A girl screamed his name and I stood up and looked over my desk expecting the worst. ‘I’ve been here before,’ I said to myself as I rose to my feet. The awful slow-motion of something you don’t want to accept dawning on you like a bad LSD trip.

My colleague was on his side, unconscious, with blood appearing out of his mouth. I arrived at him at the same time as Bert and we set to work arranging him according to medical protocol as calls were made for an ambulance. The rest of the office gathered in a crescent of shock and horror fearing the worst. I have to say, I wasn’t overly optimistic. The fallen man was in his mid 60’s, a heavy smoker and not adverse to a drink or too, lately he’d been seen by specialist for blood tests.

Far from lucid he was at least conscious and the blood by his mouth was from a cut in his lip caused by the fall, I was momentarily relieved until he informed me that he was tingling all over, particularly in his arm. I tried to remember the resuscitation technique I’d been taught almost a year previously, 1 thousand, 2 thousand… fuck, what was it? I covered his mid region over with my jacket in case he gave way. I’d remembered that part at least.

Within minutes the ambulance had arrived and he was checked out and taken to hospital where he remained until later on that evening before being discharged. The cause of his collapse was Ibuprofen; he’d taken them before, plenty of times and with no ill effect. But this time it’d caused his blood sugar level to drop like broken lift rendering him unconscious. Apparently, ‘this can happen.’ You have been warned. I fucking well was.

It was bloody hot all weekend, and Friday was no exception. I thought the worse place to be would be the tube, it wasn’t pleasant but in comparison to the fucking bus… It came close to be as stifling as flying, an airless rotisserie creeping through a shimmering London, I visualised myself tapping weakly on the glass panting like a hot dog before melting down the stairs. I got off and walked the rest of the way to the restaurant and arrived a little late. IC and ICS were already waiting for me, Mary joined us and we set about ordering tons of Vietnamese dishes from the extensive menu. It’s bloody cheap this place and fucking tasty to boot. We four spent a good while ensuring we’d be puffing all the way to the bar across the road, quick drink and I set off for the long journey back South.

My Black Bitch was still being held captive by government agents so I was forced to take more public transport, this time overland rail, to visit my folks in Greater London. My bro and his missus had just returned from a short tour of Peru and Columbia and an impromptu family gathering was arranged. In addition to ma and pa, my sis, bro-in-law and niece were in attendance, the latter now recovered from screaming the place down whenever when she sees me, in fact we get on pretty good these days

The highlight of my bros trip for me is when an old dear broke her wrists and an ankle falling over on Machu Picchu and when he shit hisself on a coach in Bogotá and had to take off his boxers in the loo whilst not getting all shit over his legs. The scene closes with him trying to pock his cacky cacks down the loo.

The afternoon went fast and I took the fucking train back to town and another awful bus ride to the East End. IC, ICS and I then went off to get some pizza at my favourite Pizza eatery in that London. Despite it being a hot, clear evening the place was strangely quiet which suited us very well.

Again, I had to go back South afterwards. There was no room at the IC Inn so I found myself on the hell express at midnight trundling under the city with lobster coloured piss pots all snogging and flirting with each other, quite awful it was.

Like a fucking tennis ball I was flung back to the East on Sunday afternoon following breakfast and the Moto GP. I met IC and ICS in London Fields after abandoning the bus in favour of life via air. It was so mercilessly hot I even bought some fucking flip flops which are the most uncomfortable thing I’ve encountered since I got some sand under my fosh in Boggle Hole when I was 6.

The final meal of the weekend took place in a restaurant near Dalston. I was already bloated before I went in, the heat causing gasses in my internals organs to expand so I stuffed my bloody face for the sake of it, a start of mussels, pork belly for my belly and even a pudding, I can’t remember the last time I had pudding. Plum Tart with Gingerbread ice cream. Ace.

I’m not saying anything by the way…