Copyright Bloody Mulberry 13/03/2012
Thirst
It was a good job I lived in
a temperate region, rather than any dustbowl desert long since
taunted and roasted by any man or god.
My symptoms had first
presented when I was a small child, a platinum blond haired boy of 6
for whom the dark streaks that distressed his mother so, well they
had only made the faintest signs of appearing. But my illness had.
Initially, I hadn't been
able to drink canned fizzy drinks and similar, obviously alcohol was
never an issue, but I found myself utterly unable to keep Coke,
Pepsi, Tab, Fresca or any of the other luridly coloured kiddy drinks
of the day down – I would vomit them straight up within seconds.
Corona and Cresta and Zoo Pops would make me bleed from my mouth as
well. Lucozade, oh the irony, had the worst effects – hives,
blistering skin, bleeding from most orifices.
A lot for a kid of 6 to deal
with.
But so long as I kept to
water or, gulps of horror, milk and also tea and coffee, all was
well. I managed for another few years, growing into teenager hood ok
and well, and not at all obese as some thanks to a diet totally free
of nasty sugary drinks. And no Sunset Yellow colouring to make me
hyper.
Alas, one day as a 16 year
old, trying to impress a girl after a trip to cinema by going to a
grown up coffee bar, and found myself having a grand mal attack and
soiling my jeans after having a latte. So that was that, both for my
ability to kiss any girl within 50 miles, and my ability to drink
anything other than water.
I managed to survive
drinking only water, which I suppose in a way I was very lucky
relative to many to get hold of so easily, until into my 30s. Thank
god I was able to smoke, and perhaps indulge in other things else my
life would have been utterly miserable. But at 39, a glass of Perrier
all but stopped my heart, and the doctors feared for my life.
Anything fluid they dripped into me caused anaphalctic shock.
My family gathered round my
bedside.
And then by a mighty mighty
fluke, my life was saved. One day, there was a tremendous
thunderstorm and the accompanying cloudburst was too much for the old
NHS hospital's roof to handle. Down it came, straight on top of my
ward, killing two patients in the beds next door to me.
A huge section of guttering
fell across my bed, but rather than kill me as it should, the doctors
found that in a delirious state, I had been drinking rainwater. And
the rainwater had revived me.
And so the pattern of my
life was set. I drink from plastic green barrels in my garden,
catching the run off from the roof. I perversely enjoy drinking from
puddles on all fours, especially if it is in front of people.
And most of all, I enjoy
just standing out in a rainstorm, mouth swallowing the heavens like
something from a primitive culture's creation myth, not giving a fuck
about the looks I was getting from the folk in the street. They
didn't know. Fuck them!
And then, then I heard of
the upcoming drought....
Copyright Bloody Mulberry
13/03/2012
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