Chocolate chip cookies.
Last year, I went on a kyacking trip through the fjords of Norway. Gorgeous scenery, but bastard, bastard cold.

Our guide was insistent that to prevent anything bad happening to us, we maintained our energy levels throughout by snacking on strong fruit squash and the ubiquitous chocolate chip cookies. As this was something we could do whilst paddling, and there was little else to do but gawp at mountains, snacking was an easy addition to the day.

Now, I've never been a massive biscuit fan. I'm not even keen on bread, and rarely eat it. Same with pasta, really. Rice I like. We didn't eat rice.

So my body, utterly unused to this sort of starchy diet, after one single day camping decided to shut my intestinal tract down. But I was still eating the cookies, because yes, I had to maintain that important energy level, oh yes.

Day two, still no action. Feeling quite bloated and backed up by now, but still eating cookies.

Day three, again, nothing happening. Not assisted, of course, by my climbing to *try* for a crap on a hillface behind some bushes, and a boat-load of tourists suddenly appearing in the wilderness pointing at my exact location until I gave up and walked back down without making an effort that probably wouldn't bear 'fruit' anyway. Stomach is now appearing to be 6/7 months pregnant. Still eatin'em cookies. Climb a mountain. Climb back down. More cocking cookies.

Day four, FINALLY THE URGE. By this point, I'm fully sick of f***ing chocolate chip cookies, and am forcing them into my gagging mouth for this 'energy levels' thing that's been continuously battered into me, but just now I need to take a crap and that's GOOD.

So I climb the hill to the 'special bush'. It has been raining. Firstly, this causes me to nearly slip into somebody else's hazelnut roll. Steadying myself on overhanging branches, I salvage that near-miss, and go for broke.

Take a moment now to consider what four days' worth of chocolate chip cookies, bunged into your intestinal tract, stored for three days, before finally emerging, blinking, into the daylight, might actually smell like.

Unsurprisingly, chocolate chip cookies.
Mixed with SHIT.

And because my body was so keen to expel the rancid bastards, I had to put up with the smell (which was stronger than any shit smell I had ever smelt before or since) as I laid the proverbial cable in one massive crap. Which, having just fiddled with a piece of string and a ruler, I have worked out to have been about 9 inches. I had time to acknowledge that it came out in a perfect question mark shape before wiping and running.

I am now sworn off cocolate chip cookies for life. The mere idea makes me gag. Chocolate on the whole is not a big 'go' area for me any more, having smelt the mingled shit fragrance of it.

Easter was quite hard for me. I stuck with white chocolate.

Sorry for the length, but I'm only quite wee and it impressed even me.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 12:57, 1 reply)

Well
that was certainly a Kayaking, or is is just a Kacking, holiday?
(Rsoles, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 21:57, closed)