I told you I was ill

As the late great Spike Milligan said, "I told you I was ill"

It seems I have a publicly notifiable disease. Giardia. Or, as Wikipedia hilariously informs me, Beaver Fever. (Due to the fact that American campers enjoying the great outdoors next to streams dammed by beavers are renowed for getting it. Not because I have hot genitals).

Happily, according to the wonderful Dr Finnigan, there are some magic pills which will sort me out in no time. But, not so happily, there is major problem. Like MAJOR, man.

I have a dog show this weekend.

The consumption of alcohol with these drugs will make me very very sick indeed (Dr Finnigan emphasised this very very heavily so I am inclined to believe him).

The consumption of alcohol at dog shows is practically compulsory (not while actually running the dogs, mind you. Although that might improve our performance. Hmmmm).

So the dilemma. Do I leave off taking the drugs until Monday, feel like utter crap all weekend, make very full use of the facilities but be able to consume the traditional bottle of wine or two (or three) with my doggy mates ( assuming I feel like it)? Or do I take the drugs and hopefully feel much much better but become a no go zone for the booze?


Actually, the decision is a lot easier than I thought it would be. During the course of writing this blog I have been to the lav three times and thrown up once. And am now going back to bed for however long it will be until the boys wake up.

Teetotally yours.

Giardia lamblia: You little bastard.