Grand National And Hurr Pains

Grand National And Hurr Pains

Saturday was Grand National day.

For those that don’t know, this is a huge horse race watched by everyone in the UK, and everyone takes this one day out of the year to place a bet on their chosen horse, even if they’d never dream of betting on anything any other time.

The last few years I’ve done rather well, and so for this year we arranged to go out to the pub and celebrate things properly with a daytime drinking session.

The drinking went well – the ‘picking a winner’ bit not so well this year.  I think from our £30 stake on various horses, we won back £4.50 for the one donkey we didn’t bet on.

I know at least one horse ‘bought the farm’ (Synchronised?), and everyone will go on about how barbaric the sport is etc, and they can all go shove their heads up a dead badgers ass.  If you don’t like it, you don’t have to watch or support it.

I’m pretty sure the horse that threw it’s rider before the start was one of the dead.  Admittedly, they SHOULD have pulled the horse (who went galavanting off around half the course on its own) – but then I had money on the twat, so wouldn’t have wanted that!  The other that died – According To Pete, or something – looked like a bloody Shetland Pony, so that doesn’t really susprise me that he couldn’t jump anything over 19″ high.

We got an early night after topping off the beer with a customary Donna Kebab, but then during the night I woke up and everything started to feel a bit Wrong.

I got some antacids down me to calm the burning in my stomach, and then about 10 pints of kebab came out of my toothless end.

Just as the torrent was calming, another 10 pints of kebab came out the speaking end.

I’m not sick very often, and will fight any feelings of sickness like a Mo Fo, but I was pretty much gone, here.

Being me, even in the midst of this highly violent bout of vomiting, I still managed to say “I sound like the Devil” in an Alan Partridge style!  This almost amused my Fiancee who by now thought I was dying.

The weird thing is that after that I felt ok.  I mean, today I can feel what I call ‘Hurr Pains’ – from all the muscles used when your body convulses as it retches – but I was up in the morning and out on the bike with some mates.

I even managed to eat a bacon sammich from the bikers cafe in Bridgnorth with no ill effects.

Will I ever be able to eat another Donna Kebab, though…?

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