My Norovirus Story

So apparently about 1 Million people have had the Norovirus. I've had it, Mark's had it. I often lie on the couch pondering weather an illness like this is the first sign of the Apocalyptic Outbreak to ruin us all, and would I give my husband up should the time come when the army cordons off the streets and asks us to hang white towels in our windows to removed the infected from inside.

He's in here! Take him!

I like to think that I wouldn't let them take my husband away, but you never know - depending on my mood and any unforgivable transgressions; like eating my last Cherry Ripe, and making me use the dodgy small crampy couch. Off to the death camp you go!

But the good news is that we've both had the virus now and are forever immune (in my head anyway). I can picture myself now, walking through the throngs of people lying on the street in their own puddles of diarrhea, and i'll be like "don't shit on my sneakers" whilst I go for a nice brisk walk in Hampstead Heath. I had the flu jab bitches! I am like Superman compared to this virus.

I wasn't anywhere near superman when I had the virus though.

The fact that I could get the virus in the first place perplexes me because I have such high standards of hand to mouth hygiene that Mark is constantly calling me the worlds biggest nerd for using my knuckles to put my PIN Code in at banks, and using my elbows to open doors.

And that leads me to the story of myself accidentally shitting on the Eurostar platform at Gare du Nord Paris.

All morning I had been feeling a tad 'queasy' but nothing that would warrant me not getting on the train to Paris to meet up with Mark. I wore a tiny dress and a flimsy ill-fitting g-string and was on my way! When I arrived in Paris, Mark's train was 'retard' (late) from Amsterdam so I had about an hour to kill by myself in the train station. I casually swanned around, listening in on the crazy conversations happening between the homeless frenchies who live in the train station. I eventually decided to go wait on the platform as Marks's train was due any minute. I felt the urge to fart so took the fart stance of one leg cocked slightly higher than the other, and let loose what was supposed to be a tiny elf like 'Poot' that would disintegrate after one-second of being airborne.

Instead I strained and due to the looseness of my g-string and the pressure in my bowels, rather than a lady like non-fart, a bit of poo flew out and landed underneath my feet on the platform.

I did what any normal person would do. I relocated myself to elsewhere on the platform. When Mark arrived I pointed out the poo like it was a Parisian Historical Hotspot "and that's where Marie Antoinette was arraigned, and that's where I shat on the platform"

Truth be told, I never let a little thing like accidental poopage ruin a good day out, so we did cultural parisian things like the Helmut Newton exhibition, and taking in the sights of the 11th Arrondissement, and then finally a quick trip to Jim Morrison's grave - it was in the graveyard that I told Mark I couldn't hold it in any longer was going shit on some holocaust survivors tomb if we didn't find a toilet soon. After that we went back to the hotel for our 'dirty weekend' which consisted of me shivering in a feverish haze, running to the bathroom every 30 seconds.

rockin the diarrhea look