Kentucky Fried Poisoning

Yeah, I had it coming.

For the majority of my recent life, I've lived off the goodness that is McDonald's and Mei Wah Chinese takeaways. On Monday night, since I was in Christchurch, I had KFC with my old flatmate.

A few hours later, I was sprawled on the floor of the Christchurch Hospital Emergency Department, drifting in and out of consciousness and plagued by waves of uncontrollable nausea.

Yes, our friends at KFC Hornby poisoned me with their Tower Burger.

I was in hospital from about 2am until 6am, then embarked on a fun bus journey back to Dunedin at 8am (one I nearly missed, actually, because I was in the car when the bus arrived). "Fun" here having the meaning of "we were almost involved with a high speed, head-on collision with a Holden" and "I was definitely not in any sort of shape to be on a bus for five hours".

Since then, I've been afraid to eat anything, which is partly why it's 10:20am and I'm still laid up in Jelle's bed (he's in an exam). It's also partly because it's cold and I. Am. Freakin. Lazy.