A sad thing happened on Saturday. I ate a large portion of my favourite dish in the world, Spag Bol, and all was dandy. We watched A Single Man and had a very pleasant, if somewhat chilled evening.
Then, halfway through the night, when I'm usually accustomed to re-wedging the pillow, I noticed an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. Not in the baby bit, The Pullen Bear has been dancing about (kind of even fighting a bit, hope it isn't a rebel) this weekend, but there was distinct rumblings in my stomach. By Sunday morning I was in agony. The Spag Bol had been rejected. I'm not sure if it was my greedy portion or the general meaty, stodginess of it all, but my stomach said 'NO' to the bolognese. And I was left in a crumpled heap on the couch, not sure whether the over full pain or the saddness at losing my favourite dish was worse. This morning, I'm still in mourning.
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