So over the past few months or so, I've really been able to feel like I can empathise with Planet Earth. I can feel its pain. I guess, for me, it's a case of : 'you can take the kid out of India, but it's a lot harder to take the India out of the kid. No matter how many times they go to the toilet.' Yeah. I think you can guess - I've recently been 'home' to a whole host of lovely little intestinal parasites, apparently.
(Yes, that is why I have not posted for so long. I have spent the past two months in the bathroom. Well, okay, I haven't - I've mainly been writing A-Level essays. But, in fairness, both have involved large quantities of shit).
Now, you know, I loved India - and I miss it - I really, really do. But by the time I had received the diagnosis, I was at such a level of nostalgia over my trip that the news made me feel absurdly flattered - "Aw, India enjoyed my stay so much that it can't even bear to part with me. Out of all the 1.1 billion people in that country, those parasites chose ME to host their species!" I even felt slightly maternal and protective towards these tiny parasites. I felt proud: "These millions of little creatures all call my intestines home; I'm like this little planet for them to live and thrive on. I feel like the giver of life!"
Questionable though it may sound, I was content. I was at one with my, um, offspring. Perhaps the real truth is... I was no longer lonely.
Unfortunately, however, I had a burning curiosity and I could not bear that curiosity any longer. I told myself it was dangerous. I begged myself not to. But of course, I did it.
I Wikipedia'd the parasite.
It is safe to say I have been haunted forever.
Let's just say that reading the words "flagellated", "swimming" and "feeding" in the first paragraph, was nearly enough to make me violently ill once more. And the PICTURE.
THE PICTURE.
Well, that flipping burned my eyes.
I mean, it had a FACE.
It made me shrieky, the whole ordeal. Every maternal instinct I had ever felt for the vile things vanished, as sure as any mother's would if the DNA test revealed that Satan was their child's father. Suddenly, I broke free of the rose-tinted haze of Indian nostalgia. I remembered the days of hitting the bathroom sixteen times a day, the sadistic stomach cramps and the feverish days of... fever. That fever they gave me - the scorching inferno blazing inside me on a temperature equivalent to Hell itself. Well, the memory of that made me hit the roof.
"I gave you a home!" I shrieked to the ungrateful little sods. "I gave you a roof over your heads and a protective sanctuary for you to raise your children!"
("Not quite so protective," they muttered back to me "I mean - your bowels have been relentlessly trying to evict us for the past few months.")
"I'm the only home you've got! The only home you'll ever know! AND THIS IS HOW YOU THANKED ME?!" I shrieked on, oblivious "BY HIKING UP THE TEMPERATURE UNTIL I COULD BARELY STAND IT! I MEAN -"
I stopped. Now there's a thought.
I am more than just a breeding ground. I am a walking metaphor for global warming!
Because, as my dear old David Attenborough pointed out earlier this year, "we humans are a plague on the Earth". And, I, as a microcosmic representation of this, can tell you that further proliferation of this plague will not have happy results. That good old Mother Earth may try and exterminate us by the million if we raise her temperature any higher. I am not suggesting that we should stop "swimming and feeding" on her entirely (O.K. I am making myself feel sick. All I need to do now is mention the word "flagellated" again and... oh dear. Bathroom trip number 17). I am just pointing out that we should stop exploiting our only home, because one day, its immune system might kick in.
And then, that's it, our future is down the toilet.
(yes my friends. Anecdotes about your bowel movements are surely the most persuasive of linguistic devices).
Sombre, I know. Here's some practical advice:
Advice To Fledgling Vegetarians I Wish I Had Been Given: scotch eggs contain meat. The clue is NOT in the name.
Aside from that incident, vegetarianism is all good, with the exception of Quorn ham. Whilst in general, I find most Quorn products both healthy and appetising, I have to admit that Quorn ham tastes, quite literally, like arse.
... I'll leave you with that thought, and the promise of a longer blog post in the near future.
Arrivederci!
SavingTheWorldFromMyKitchen
www.savingtheworldfrommykitchen.blogspot.com - you know what to do, folks.
I stopped. Now there's a thought.
I am more than just a breeding ground. I am a walking metaphor for global warming!
Because, as my dear old David Attenborough pointed out earlier this year, "we humans are a plague on the Earth". And, I, as a microcosmic representation of this, can tell you that further proliferation of this plague will not have happy results. That good old Mother Earth may try and exterminate us by the million if we raise her temperature any higher. I am not suggesting that we should stop "swimming and feeding" on her entirely (O.K. I am making myself feel sick. All I need to do now is mention the word "flagellated" again and... oh dear. Bathroom trip number 17). I am just pointing out that we should stop exploiting our only home, because one day, its immune system might kick in.
And then, that's it, our future is down the toilet.
(yes my friends. Anecdotes about your bowel movements are surely the most persuasive of linguistic devices).
Sombre, I know. Here's some practical advice:
Advice To Fledgling Vegetarians I Wish I Had Been Given: scotch eggs contain meat. The clue is NOT in the name.
Aside from that incident, vegetarianism is all good, with the exception of Quorn ham. Whilst in general, I find most Quorn products both healthy and appetising, I have to admit that Quorn ham tastes, quite literally, like arse.
... I'll leave you with that thought, and the promise of a longer blog post in the near future.
Arrivederci!
SavingTheWorldFromMyKitchen
www.savingtheworldfrommykitchen.blogspot.com - you know what to do, folks.
