I shat myself this morning. Properly, undeniably shat myself, in bed.
Last week Missy was really not in a good place digestively and had the scooshers for a few days over the weekend. It was perfectly timed really, as the following week (last week) I was due to fly down to HQ in London. This was to be a week of serious work, filming for an up-coming equity funding campaign; if we don’t get what we need then it’s really going to cause a lot of major problems timing wise, and content wise, and campaign wise. Which was why I was thrilled to be heading off on the Tuesday in the shoogly aeroplane. Nothing beats the squizzlies in a metal tube with 1 portaloo.
Luckily my week played out without poo-related incidents, and despite the major headache and ibuprofen chugging, we got what we needed and now it’s just the editing phase to worry about. Heading home I was absolutely exhausted; spending 3 days of filming, remembering everything that I need to whilst getting the shots secured, audio recorded, backed up, stored, all angles caught, all script points hit. It’s fine whilst you’re in about it, but when the foot comes off the pedal, your body takes the opportunity to go into shutdown mode, and it did.
Friday I was really wiped. I knew it would be a day of transferring footage and creating proxies, so took the time to get things unpacked and myself unwound. Early bed. Saturday I was drained and lethargic. Went to Perth and then spent most of the day in the garden which was lovely. Then Sunday morning woke up and oh boy, oh boy. The floodgates opened, and it was a national emergency. Most of the day was spent scooshing and despite feeling better and eating sensible stuff later on (salmon risotto?) it was Monday morning, this morning, that took the biscuit.
I woke up with a start and immediately I knew that something wasn’t right. A warmth around those parts that warmth shouldn’t be emanating from. A hand check confirmed what I never thought would happen; I had sharted. I leapt up and headed through to the other toilet, checking I’d not soiled the actual bed (I hadn’t, thank goodness), as Mrs was now in her morning routine and shower system. Collecting some spare pants, I got myself checked and sure enough, there it was. What followed then was a continuation of Sunday morning’s dam busters for a few hours, followed by some book reading/toilet dashing, then a cracking headache and then sleep for 4 hours on the sofa, of all places.
Now, Monday night, I feel drained and tired and hungry, but the plopping has ceased now for over 6 hours and despite the bubbling and groaning of my insides, I’m reluctant to eat anything in case I wake up tomorrow morning and I’ve repeated. I must play it safe; I’ve got all this editing to do before Friday and it’s not going to get done itself.
In other news, the book reading mentioned has been a few things. First was “This is Going to Hurt” by Adam Kay. Very funny and sad. Then today (for the first time ever I’ve read a book in a day) I read Lovely Bones. My mum’s favourite book. It was really sad but overall quite a positive tale. I think I’ve watched the film but can’t remember it being so sad.
Anyway. I’ve now downloaded the Secret Barrister and have started that one off. Positives in the negatives, yeah?