The Editor's First Movement...for several days!
This morning my usually dormant bathroom was the setting for a much anticipated and eagerly sought after drama. I finally had a bowel movement. (And extremely musical it was!) After five days of nothing but the odd promotional murmur from my stitches, the occasional itch from the depths of my small intestine and the even less frequent yawn from my large colon (a yawn that generally smelt of sulphur and frightened the seagulls from around my porch) at 9.45 a.m. I stumbled upstairs following a hearty breakfast of Kellogg's Frosties (guaranteed to stir the soul, the liver and the drug-induced contents of a full week's storage) to discover the Krankies, Schnorbitz and Nick Kershaw gathered round my bathroom door for the grand reopening of my bowels.
And what an event it was!
After an initial strenuous fifteen minutes of staring at the wallpaper, beads of sweat straddling my forehead and knees trembling weakly, the first glimmers of a turtle's head began to appear. It was a similar experience to giving birth to a grand piano.
A choreographed cascade of boulder upon boulder then tore in romantic slow motion towards the bowl, plummeting noiselessly with the grace of Natalie Wood into the rupturing water!
A round of applause!
The shred of a stitch!
The tumultuous encore of several minor coal lumps that had been waiting in the wings!
And the drama was over!
Exhausted, sweaty and much relieved I took a bow, broke wind on the curtains and studied the huge, fossilised deposit that was wedged down the bog.
Who says that shit just happens?
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