ORGANIC CHAT-CHAT — AND A NASTY BOUT OF GASTROENTERITIS

I haven’t blogged for a long time and this has been most remiss of me.

Of course, this have not have had a negative impact on your life but in case it has, please allow me to apologise and present you with an overdue, but hopefully mildly entertaining  five-minute read.

My, my  — doesn’t time go quickly? I’ve been in Spain for almost six months but tomorrow night I’ll be back in Poland for the winter.

And if you’re thinking “Poland” and “winter” is not an ideal collocation of words, then you’re reading my thoughts.

Of course, you may be interested to know – or then again you may not – why I haven’t blogged for so long? My last few blogs were hijacked by Richie Malone who wanted to share his adventures from the forthcoming novel The List, which will be available next spring.

So between writing and teaching, lying in the sun and drinking San Miguel, I’ve not had much time to blog.

Una cerveza senor?

However, this week I contracted some gruesome sort of gastroenteritis and I have been extremely ill. Of course, to begin with I naturally assumed it must be a recurrence of the Chinese Flu because — as we all know — any ailments that cannot be directly attributed to a hangover must be Covid.

And in between lengthy bouts on the toilet and hours of trying to either stop shivering or stop sweating, I got to thinking about how the human body actually works.

So this morning I had a conversation with a student of mine who is a newly qualified doctor.

‘Just imagine,’ I say, ‘how a conversation might go, if my body organs could talk to each other.’

‘The only organ capable of expressing rational thought is the brain,’ she replies.’

‘Of course,’ I say, ‘I understand that, but lets go with this for a minute, and allow me to tell you about the conversation between my organs that took place this week — it went something like this:’

The whole “mixed grill” chattering away

Rectum:         This is bloody outrageous. If HE goes to the toilet one more time this morning, I’m going on strike.’

Brain:             Arse … or whatever you call yourself—‘

Rectum:         I’m actually called Rectum Brain, and you know that very well. Just because you think you’re the brains of this operation—‘

Brain:             Well, I actually am, Arse. That’s why I’ called Brain and you’re called Arse.’

Rectum:         I’m called—‘

Kidneys:        Can you two shut up? It’s hard enough to maintain the body’s chemical balance, excreting waste products and excess fluid in the form of urine, without having to listen to you two bickering. Anyway, Rectum, you’re not even a Primary Organ. I mean, you do know that don’t you?

Stomach:       No need to take the piss, kidneys. He’s the one who has to deal with all this shit, and I wouldn’t want his job.

Kidneys:        I think you’ll find that’s actually my job, stomach. If you did yours and digested the food through production of gastric juices as you’re supposed to, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

Intestines:     I concur. But Brain, this is actually your fault. It’s your job to tell HIM what to eat and what not to eat. If you’d been paying attention, HE would have seen that last night’s chicken was undercooked.

Brain:             The chicken was fine. It had nothing to do with it. It’s a virus, you moron. A virus. Oh, and far too many beers.

Lungs:            How about you guys give it a break? I haven’t had any exercise for days thanks to this.

Penis:             Neither have I. Apart from pissing … and that doesn’t even count. I could really do with a stiff walk.

Brain:             Since when have you been a Primary Organ, Penis? Anyway, I don’t think you can spell?

Penis:             Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Brain. If I had a Euro for every time I’ve heard a woman say,  “he follows his dick and not his brain”, I’d be able to afford that extension.

Liver:             Well I, for once, feel great! In fact, I haven’t felt better in years. Six whole days without having to process a single drop of alcohol. Terrific!

Penis:             Or Viagra?

Liver:             Yeah, that too. All my birthdays came at once.

Heart:             Fellas, I think it’s appropriate that I have the last word on this.

Brain:             Bullshit, Heart. Without me controlling the autonomic nervous system, you wouldn’t even get to beat normally, let alone like the proverbial drum when HE cops off.

Liver:             Let’s hear what Heart has to say, shall we?

Brain:             I can tell you what Heart has to say. And that’s because every thought you guys think you have comes … from … me.

Silence

Brain:             See? You can’t deny it, can you? You may think you have thoughts but they’re just reflections, or shadows, of what I’m thinking. And what I’m thinking, Liver, is to enjoy your short holiday because the next thought that HE’s going to have is that the idea of a beer may not be such a bad one.

Happy to report that my recovery is complete and that Liver is now back at work.

Hasta pronto, chic@s!

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