Yes, the food IS that bad ...
Knowing the cafe in our own building is so shit they even have to have omlettes delivered frozen and then microwave them, MeColleage & I decided to eat in the main BBC Canteen at TV Centre down the road. I made the mistake of having fish.

Within 2 minutes of finishing the meal I knew I was in trouble. As we walked the 15 minutes back to our own building I was feeling rougher and rougher. Then my stomach decided there was only one thing for it: Dispose of the contents. I was 200yds from the (relative)privacy of a toilet cubicle, but no. The fish was getting a second viewing whether I liked it or not.

The only cover I could find was a shrubbery in the grounds that would dissapoint even the Knights of Nie. Still, I might have gotten away with it had it not been for MeColleague pointing and pissing himself with laughter as people walked past my retching form.

Spent the rest of my shift curled up with gutache in the corner sipping glasses of water. Then it came time to go home.

The walk to the station must've dislodged something as I then had to 'Plant a Richard'. Badly. Like in the next 10 seconds.

Sprinting into another Beeb building I tore past security and frantically searched for the toilet. I found a Ladies. Fuck it. Shit now, face Employment Tribunal later. Ran in and let one drop that would make TubGirl proud.

There then followed a seemingly endless stream of women in and out leaving me trapped. Finally I made my escape. Then came the tube journey.

No sooner had the doors closed than I realised I was probably going to be sick again. I began plannning escape points. If I could get to East Putney I could sneak round the back of the waiting room and chunder on the disused branch line platform. West Brompton would give me some good foliage to go behind.

No, I only got to Notting Hill Gate. Which has no toilets. Fucksocks. Ran out of the station and into McDonalds opposite. I barfed what was left inside (and the lining and some blood) in the cubicle. When I emerged there was a bloke washing his hands.

"You alright, mate?" he says.

"Yeah." I say "But I'd go down the road to Burger King if I were you..."

Retched again in someone's garden on the way home (sorry if it was you) got home, called in sick and curled up into a little ball under the duvet.

Apologies for length, but it is nowhere NEAR as long as that journey seemed ...
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 11:08, Reply)