Subscribe: Subscribe to me on YouTube

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

I don't know if it's the creeping progression of the nanny state or just the continual erosion of an individual's right to privacy, but it comes to something when a grown man can't bleed profusely on his own bathroom floor without attracting attention from his mother.

Within twenty minutes of publishing yesterday's blog post, my Mum had texted me to ask why I was coughing up blood over Sunday lunch. It's a fair question, I suppose, and one I'd intended to answer, but I'd already written 2,000 words at work yesterday (the minutes of that meeting were more like hours), so frankly I couldn't be bothered.

As it happens, it goes back to the night of 18th February 2004, when I had an unforgettable deep throat experience at a club on the outskirts of Dallas. I didn't mention it in my blog post the next day, but whilst having dinner by the stage of the Addison Improv, I managed to choke on a French Fry. To cut a throat story short, a razor sharp piece of potato got lodged in my gullet, and grazed a bit of soft tissue as it went down. I ended up gagging in the comedy club. Which was no laughing matter.

Ever since, I've been vulnerable to attacks by hard carbohydrates, and if I don't chew my chips thoroughly, I end up cutting my own throat. Which was what happened on Sunday. I swallowed a pointy piece of pizza, and before I knew it, I'd sliced open my oesophagus. In a very minor way.

To be honest, I would have been fine, but I excused myself anyway and went to the bathroom, just in case I started heaving at the dinner table. I was soon joined there by Amelie, who needed help wiping her nether regions, and as I bent down to assist her, I felt something catch the back of my throat. As I stood up, I gave an involuntary cough, and to my surprise, blood spurted out of my mouth and all over the floor. It was like The Exorcist, only more horrifying.

Physically, I'd just scratched the inside of my throat and felt fine, but mentally it was something of a shock to see Amelie standing on a plastic stool in the middle of the bathroom, surrounded by her own father's blood. So we both stood in stunned silence for a moment. Until Lisa arrived, saw the blood on the floor, and almost fainted.

Fortunately, the situation was saved by Amelie, who took in the murder scene around her, looked at her Daddy, and shouted "You've got red on your face!!", before bursting into laughter. At which point I mopped up the pool of blood on the floor, changed my t-shirt, and rejoined Marie for banoffee pie. As Sundays go, I've had worse.