I
wake up at 0500hr with discomfort in the middle of my chest. It grows and I assume it is a recurrence of
the acid reflux that I suffer from time to time after eating too much. The previous evening, three couples came for
dinner. I cooked Parmesan custard with
anchovy toast, slow cooked pork belly in sage, Apple and onion sauce and a
tiramisu baked Alaska followed by cheese.
We finished off 10 bottles of good wine and some whisky. All of this was probably enough to give me
heartburn.
The
pain in my chest intensifies. I swig some
Gaviscon and sit up in bed waiting for it to work. The pain lasts about 30 minutes but gradually
subsides. Overall I lose an hour or more
sleep.
In
the afternoon I set off for the Catch.
Catch the Hare Hash House Harriers, to give it its proper name, is a
monthly hash, the format of which differs from the usual trail in flour or
chalk. One person is selected at random
to be the hare and they set off 5 minutes in front of everyone else with a bag
full of several kilos of flour. The pack
then set off and whoever catches the hare becomes the next hare. So it continues until after an hour or so we
end up back in the pub. Surprisingly
this format works well for all hashers; walkers and joggers, as well as speedy
Gonzales (or Skylark, as we call him) usually get a turn at being hare. Anyway we are running from the Holly Bush in Hampstead.
Helen
is still a little hung over from last night.
I set off for Kentish Town station, as Tufnell Park is now closed for 10
months while the lifts are replaced. I
only get as far as the corner of the street when the chest pain returns, I feel
dizzy and sweaty. I am not going to be
able to run like this so decide to go home.
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