The shits. A dose of the salts. Ghandi's revenge. Pebble dashing the porcelain. The Hershey squirts. Yes, the inevitable consequence of being someone who likes their food is when it bites back and your spending some time in the company of toilet roll and that odd moaning noise you make when you realise you have just seconds to get to the toilet and it may well be a few seconds further away. Luckily, the minor bout I had late last week only lasted the morning. The frustrating thing was the fact that the meal that caused it cost over a hundred quid. I don't mind if I have to suffer the effects of an ill advised drunken Brick Lane curry or a dodgy kebab. I figure your running that particular gauntlet and it's always a risk, but when your out for a nice meal celebrating a birthday, you don't figure that you and several other members of your party and gonna be hosing down the toilet bowl the next morning. I shall be naming and shaming the damn place as soon as I can remember what the damn place was called. I think I may have attempted to blank it from my memory. Reminds me of my 30th birthday where I ended up in hospital after a visit to Ramsey's in Claridges, but that's another story.