Moving in mysterious ways

I saw my doctor this morning. I’ve been having strange bowel movements, and in these cancer-ridden times I thought I should get myself looked at (and just pray that patient confidentiality is still applicable.) There’s an old Norfolk saying that goes “you’ll shit over nine hedges in the morning.” It usually applies to someone who has over-eaten, and whom you expect to pay a visit to Runny Street the following day. I could never really comprehend what the act itself might be like, until this week.. I wouldn’t want to go into details, so let’s just say I used enough toilet paper on Monday to keep Center Parcs going for a fortnight.
Dr K asked me what my typical dietary intake is, and have I changed my daily eating habits recently? I told him that up until the end of March I’d eat three huge meals a day, graze my way through the in-between hours and eat a hearty snack before bedtime, and that a day didn’t pass without four Scotch eggs. Now I mostly pick at fruit here and there, eat a meal of chicken and pasta before work and maybe have some toast in my lunch break. He thinks we may have pinpointed my problem..

Having got the all clear and some pile cream, I decided to take the all-new Rory VelociPed out for a spin this evening. It’s red, it’s sleek and it’s sexy, and it now has a giant scratch down the seat stem and a broken spoke on the wheel.
Runaway rabbits are a pain in the arse.

RC 12-6-09
2215 BST