A Case of the Trots

MarmiteKiwis will know what I mean by “the Trots” …

I’m not referring to cobbled horse racing here, Bolshevik revolutionaries or Del-boy and Rodney. I am referring to a serious case of some stomach bug that ruined Kym and mines weekend and my Monday just gone.

Things had started so well on Friday. Dinner out with Lord and Lady Plunket and the Avidgami’s to celebrate something, we weren’t really too sure what. A fabulous Japanese meal in town, dozens of dishes floating about on the table and many bottles of sake.

But Saturday morning I woke early, something of a shock in itself, wasn’t too sure why so went to the loo and promptly found out then. Kym followed me in shortly afterwards (bad luck on her part) and we subsequently spent the next two days on the couch with stomach pains, nausea, flu-like symptoms and the constant threat of mad-dashes to the loo.

Then we remembered, way too late, that during the week we’d visited friends who’d been through the experience recently, we blame them of course, but apparently there’s plenty of it going about (even shut down a whole ward at Waikato Hospital a few weeks back)

Its only now at lunchtime on Wednesday that I can honestly say I’ve got my appetite back. I love spicy foods and until today I just couldn’t muster the thought of anything other than Marmite on toast or a flat lemonade (those two great kiwi cure-alls).

Amazing how much of a wide-berth folks give you when your honest about domestic outbreaks of communicable disease. Not a soul turned up at the front door. The nearest thing to human contact I had was waving to Kym’s parents as they picked up a DVD I left for them in the mail-box. I dont think I’ve seen their car leave rubber patches in the driveway like that before

What World Cup?

There’s more to life than Rugby

Like most lads growing up in NZ at the time I played Rugby as a kid. At primary school we charged about in bare feet all through winter skating across thick frost with feet so numb you couldn’t feel them. At intermediate age and for the 1st couple of years of high-school I played club-rugby for Ohaupo.

For one reason or another (mostly alcohol and selfish leisure time pursuits) by the time I left school I just kinda lost interest in getting up early on the weekends, practising in the dark in the cold winter, and sliding about in the mud getting dirty and injured.

And in the decades since I last played a game (actually I did play a few in London in the early 90′s) I just haven’t really felt the tug or need to identify as strongly with a sport that seems to obsess so many that don’t even play the bloody thing.

Don’t get me wrong (actually feel free if you must) but I do love to watch a good test match. I get along to a few NPC and Super-whatevers a season, and I scream and yell along with mates in sheds and lounge-rooms every month or so.

It’s just that… I honestly couldn’t give more than a couple of shits about the All Blacks losing the world cup.

I’m not disappointed in the players especially, I don’t hate the French, I don’t want to kill the ref, I don’t care whether the coaches (whoever they are) resign or get sacked, I don’t care about rotation, etc etc etc…

This now means of course that I will have to wear a titanium-strengthened cod-piece everywhere I go in Hamilton in case I get kicked in the nuts (yes Woody/Vike, I’m on to you!!!).

But so be it. Life goes on for Christ’s sake.