Got a gig starting on Monday, and the consultancy wanted me in for debriefing today. So I nipped down to town for a couple of hours. Last night was an unplanned boozy one, culminating in dial out pizza to soak it all up.
This morning I was a little rough but not too bad. Got to St Pancras and felt ok. As I was walking through the concourse to the tube I started feeling rough. Symptoms were, cramps (below bridge level), nipsy twinges, nausea, light headedness, dizzy spells, fever, sweats, palpitations.
Onwards towards the tube. Don't want to be late. Arrive at Victoria and have to walk along Grosvenor place (behind Maams house) to the consultancy. Now soaked with sweat, still dizzy and feeling sick.
Don't want to be late now, must press on.
Arrive in the foyer and sign in. The desk lady asked if I wanted a glass of water. No thanks. Fine take a seat. OK.
Sitting there. Suddenly room really starts spinning, feel sick, really sick. OMFG I am going to blow chunks all over their lovely marbled foyer.
I gets up. Erm excuse me where's the loo.
Desk lady is on the phone and puts her hand up to indicate I have to wait.
Suity is hopping from foot to foot. "Lady where's the loo!!!!"
After some directions I burst in nearly knocking some poor innocent over as I barrel past into trap 3. Head over pan, retch, retch, retch. Nothing.
Then a knock at the back door and I have to sit down quick as wave after wave of diahorrea explodes from me.
Bit more retching.
Then zip up, flush, washy washy hand hands.
Look in the mirror. Pale as death, and still sweating. Feel dog rough.
Then, game face on. Meet and greet with the PM. Big smile that meets the eyes, and press on.
I'm glad I still haven't lost my go-to-work-even-with-ebola-ness after a couple of months on the bench.
I wonder what they all made of this crazed sweaty balding overweight loon.
A close shave in deed.
This morning I was a little rough but not too bad. Got to St Pancras and felt ok. As I was walking through the concourse to the tube I started feeling rough. Symptoms were, cramps (below bridge level), nipsy twinges, nausea, light headedness, dizzy spells, fever, sweats, palpitations.
Onwards towards the tube. Don't want to be late. Arrive at Victoria and have to walk along Grosvenor place (behind Maams house) to the consultancy. Now soaked with sweat, still dizzy and feeling sick.
Don't want to be late now, must press on.
Arrive in the foyer and sign in. The desk lady asked if I wanted a glass of water. No thanks. Fine take a seat. OK.
Sitting there. Suddenly room really starts spinning, feel sick, really sick. OMFG I am going to blow chunks all over their lovely marbled foyer.
I gets up. Erm excuse me where's the loo.
Desk lady is on the phone and puts her hand up to indicate I have to wait.
Suity is hopping from foot to foot. "Lady where's the loo!!!!"
After some directions I burst in nearly knocking some poor innocent over as I barrel past into trap 3. Head over pan, retch, retch, retch. Nothing.
Then a knock at the back door and I have to sit down quick as wave after wave of diahorrea explodes from me.
Bit more retching.
Then zip up, flush, washy washy hand hands.
Look in the mirror. Pale as death, and still sweating. Feel dog rough.
Then, game face on. Meet and greet with the PM. Big smile that meets the eyes, and press on.
I'm glad I still haven't lost my go-to-work-even-with-ebola-ness after a couple of months on the bench.
I wonder what they all made of this crazed sweaty balding overweight loon.
A close shave in deed.
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