I spent most of the night on Thursday and some of Friday doing the activity symbolised in the above illustration. It’s my least favourite thing to do in the world, even worse than watching Dancing On Ice. It just feels like all your natural processes are working backwards. That particular route is a one way street as far as I’m concerned. When something tries to stop and reverse back up or, worse still, sit in the carpark at the bottom for three hours before doing a U-turn and driving back up the wrong way… it doesn’t feel great.
I loathe that gradual build-up of unease you get in your guts about half an hour before the big moment. You just know there’s no way out; no going back to sleep for you! Your body just works slowly towards its natural crescendo. When it comes every muscle in your body is clenched; it must be the best work-out I’ve had for ages. And there’s no way to do it quietly; I don’t know why I feel like I have to emit a sort of strangulated yodel while I’m expelling the dodgy stuff. I tell myself to keep the noise down when the next eruption comes but every time I have to do the usual imitation of Captain Caveman with his balls trapped in a fridge door.
The five or ten minutes after the impact feels like heaven. Lying there with my head in the plastic measuring jug (ideal for the job actually because my nose slotted perfectly into the little pouring spout bit) I would have signed up to anything just to avoid that abomination ever happening again. But half an hour later the slow build-up would begin again like endless, unavoidable series of The X Factor circling again and again.
I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. And I haven’t even mentioned the worst aspect of the experience yet; the most dreaded event of all; the horror of horrors…. If I just say the phrase “both ends”, you’ll know exactly what I mean.