Kick a man when he is down...
In Cornwall for the missus grandparents 50th wedding anniversary. Staying in the fine county on the cheap by camping out at St Agnes Head. Great buffet spread, lovingly prepared by friends and family that morning and stewing lovely in the stinking hot August sun for hours.

Later that evening we returned to the camp site and turned in for the night. Nothing unusual until around 2am when the stomach starts making churning noises like a washing machine. Then the sinking feeling, am I going to chuck or am I not. Being not at home and in easy reach of a porcelain alter I thought I'd better go through the normal get-up-in-the night routine that you do when under canvas. So I successfully made it to the loo block and took up residence in one of the cubicles for two hours, alternative between puking, shitting and feeling so ill that I crawled into a ball and slept on the loo floor shivering till dawn.

The weather the next day matched my attitude, grey, cold and stormy. The missus is only vaguely interested in my night adventures with food poisoning, she really wants to tell me something else, but not at the camp site, that's too easy. So I agree to be driven up to the cliffs for some air, it will do me good (yer right). Then once perched on a rock feeling sorry for myself and just about holding it together my other 'arf jubilantly announces to me that I am going to be a father. Excuse me if I don't jump up for joy. I got daggers for the next couple of days till I could recover enough to make the correct positive noises regarding my coming offspring.
(ihavechangedmyusernamesoicannotbeidentified, Tue 3 Apr 2012, 0:24, Reply)