Nothing came out.
My mates and I used to have a tradition on a Christmas Eve. We would meet up in a cafe near the local train station, eat a big fry up to line our stomachs then jump onto a train into Hull, normally getting there by 11am to begin a festive drinking epic.

As taxis back to our home village were massively expensive we would catch the last train back and get into the nearest pub to the station in time for last orders. At kicking out time we would then walk the three miles from the train station to our home village.

The walk in the cold had an excellent sobering effect and for the year in question by the time I had said farewell to the last of my mates to walk past the church to my home I was pretty much sobered up and feeling fine. As I walked past the church I noticed that the midnight mass (or whatever the equivalent that they have in that C of E happy clappy place) was finishing. People were coming out and amongst them were my Grandmother’s neighbours who spotted me on the other side of the road and called hello.

As I opened my mouth to reply a moth or something flew into my mouth and down my throat which led to an immense coughing and choking fit (you know what its like, even though it’s probably gone it feels like it’s still there) which led to me ended up with me bent double leaning on a nearby wall for support barely able to breath.

When I finally regained my composure and turned around I was confronted with the entire aging god bother population of my village staring at me in disgust, tutting and calling me a “disgrace”. My explanations fell on deaf ears and the tale of my none existent vomit was all over the village by Boxing Day.
(Fraz1172 Speak Softly but wear a loud shirt, Tue 12 Jan 2010, 18:33, Reply)