Sunday, 27 January 2008

Squeamish? Moi?

I took a funny turn while eating out at a decent Spanish restaurant last night. I was doing fine, then all of a sudden, I came over faint and dizzy, my forehead slicked with a cold sweat. All I wanted to do was put my head between my knees but I restrained.

I love Spanish food and I'd only had a glass of sangria too, so I knew it couldn't be an allergic reaction or the alcohol. Then it dawned on me: I'd brought the whole sorry situation on myself.

We'd been out to the pictures to watch Sweeny Todd, which I thoroughly enjoyed. But time was getting on when it finished and we'd had no tea. The tapas place was close by so we went there.

The last dish I ate was the Spanish black pudding, which I've had before and have eaten, no bother. It came with a spicy tomato sauce and looked fine, tasted fine. But I'd picked up an extra-chewy piece when I started thinking of Sweeny Todd, blood, pies with humans in them and that the stuff on my plate could easily pass for Mrs. Lovett's pie filling. Cue a very washed-out Northcountrylass, face practically in the black pudding, and a nonplussed boyf saying 'bill please' to the passing waiter.

Outside (and returning to almost-normal) I relayed my story to the boyf, who said: You're just squeamish.' 'I'm not.' I said. But then I started thinking about all the other fainting, dizzying incidents I'd had in years gone by:

  1. Fainted watching a birthing video, at the age of 12, in a school biology class. Oh, the horror and shame.
  2. Passed out during A-Level class with severe stomach pains (Ok, this incident is medical).
  3. Almost passed out watching horrific scene in disgusting, overly gory film. Think it was Saw III.
  4. The latest incident: Almost fainted, unable to finish Spanish black pudding because I started conjuring up stomach-churning scenario straight from a Tim Burton film.

I think the boyf may have a point.

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