I finally said yes, I was due to start. Erran had been checking in on me over the last few days with increasing urgency and by the rising levels of disapproval, I knew it was time for action. So when he called today around lunch time asking if I’d freed the necessary next day for the onslaught of the cleanse or Purge as I’d come to refer to it, I assured him I had no external meetings booked (home toilet access had been seriously recommended). My parasites had influenced me to purchase a Lindt chocolate bar that morning as their final hurrah meal of choice, so as Erran spoke, my eyes undressed it - splendid as it was reclining on the kitchen table.
As soon as I got Erran off the phone, I had my lunch and just as I was tucking into my farewell chocolate bar, he called again. A sharp eared Erran somehow detected my illicit activities and upon interrogation I admit I lied and tried to minimise the situation by saying it was chewing gum - to which Erran still lightheartedly chastised me, saying that nothing should pass my lips. After a few hours break, I took the pill and got ready for the ride.
Well disappointment and surprise on all counts, having taken the pill with a somewhat estimated right amount of water, I was typing away at the Mac and recognised I was burping quite a lot and had a salty, excess saliva thing going on in my mouth which is my tried and tested pre-vomit indicator. Sure enough was I that I scuttled quick time off to the bathroom, grabbed a bowl and settled back in front of the computer, all the while burping like Puff the Magic Dragon trying to breathe fire.
Having expected serious attacks of the No.2 variety as per all my research, I was soon reintroduced to my Lindt and staring at a warm, not so unattractive bowl of brown chocolate milkshake stew. It burned like none other (Erran later said it was the pepper in the pill) and after a few heaves for good measure, I duly trotted upstairs to empty the bowl and await the real cleanse bit.
Well in a nutshell, it didn’t happen, I’d been forewarned that the Purge could have you going back and forth to the toilet all night. Apart from being a bit more watery, (sorry to be frank) the resulting stool five hours later was no worse than a good curry on a bad Friday night. To be fair, the evening wasn’t without a certain element of drama, prior to the main event, a certain friend disguised as a fart may have come a calling. All I will say dear friends, is that those silent but violents that are particularly active usually around evening time...don’t engage in them during this phase - the struggle is real people.