I ended up in hospital last night hooked up to an IV after a bad piece of fish. You just know that Pacu bastard put a fish fatwa on my head for bad mouthing him to the world at large. Clearly fish and I are taking a break from one another.

Anyway as per usual, during this entire episode, for lack of a better description, I couldn’t help but be a very distant observer (throwing up 12 times makes one very very distant. I mean distant on the verge of comatose) and take note, as us writers do of what was going on around me. For starters, the paramedics that came to retrieve me when signs of dehydration began to set in seriously needed to work on their bedside manner. There is nothing more amusing (or non sensical) than two medical technicians trying to reason with someone who has no capacity to reason (I will give them the benefit of a long shift probably filled with drunk people face planted in the gutter; you know, a British Saturday night out). When I’ve been sick multiple times in a row, I'm dehydrated and my blood pressure is on the floor, the only thing I want to do is lie down. Call me crazy, but I’ve always thought it made perfect sense, no? And I mean, I’ll lie down anywhere – my preference, like many, the cool tile floor in a bathroom. This becomes hard once in an ambulance, admittedly, but I’m not picky.

So, our exchange went something like this (take note of course at this point I looked like Nick Nolte on a bad day and was barely audible). Them: you can’t lie down Miss, we need to run some tests. Me: I need to lie down. Them: you can’t lie down (more forceful this time) you have to cooperate. Me: (barely audible), I’m lying down now. Them: Mam, please. Me: now prostrate on the floor of their truck. Them: Mam that’s dirty down there. Me: (in my head), I could give a toss, just let me lie down and leave me alone as I’ve been throwing up for the last two hours. Of course once they took my blood pressure (I finally relented and sat in a chair), they decided I could lie down on the gurney and saw reason. Thanks Fellas.

Anyway, we then hit the A&E, which past ten o clock is like a triage on crack with no Dr. Ross in sight (ER fans will know this reference). The most ironic thing about hospitals, as we all know, is that when sick, we are compelled to go, and yet, there is nowhere you would rather be, as the reminders of one’s mortality are splashed across the walls like graffiti art. In short, you enter a hospital telling yourself you’re going to be fine while no one around you seems to be, which just seems …well perverse really. If it’s not the sounds of the fellow visitors on any particular night (the moans, groans, howls, coughing fits, vomiting, or belligerent, unruly behavior ("I have to lie down damn it!" ha), it’s the relentless sounds of the discordant machinery that are enough to drive you utterly bonkers. Throw in that fantastic track lighting all hospitals seem so found of (I mean come on, people feel badly; dim the sodding lights already! And light a candle while you're at it) and one feels like Jack Nicholson could jump through the door holding an axe at any point.

Meanwhile, the fact that the nurses and doctors seem oblivious to all the noise and incessant beeps, dings, whirs and shrill cacophony from the machinery makes me think they’d all make tremendous parents. Imagine their ability to tune things out. On the flipside of course you then realize that this quality of inward reflection (or survival) of the staff, also applies to patients. “La la la, I’m sorry but I don’t hear you, I’m doing something else, thank you!”

So there I was, finally laying down on a bed (of sorts), hooked up to fluids, clinging to my mortality like a starfish, as I watched a few elderly people wheeled out of room that said RESUSITATION ROOM across the top of it. I’m thinking you want to stay out of that room at no matter what cost. The upside of everything, the fluids of course and my excessively nice nurse who was far more compassionate than the paramedics, I can tell you that. She even wrapped a very fashionable hospital blanket around my shoulders like a shawl as I was leaving as she feared I was cold. It only takes one nice person to restore the hope, I’ll tell you that.

FU Pacu.

This one is going to make many men out there cringe in pain (and perhaps swear off reading my blog). Thought it was an amusing (& slightly sadistic) way to jump back into things after a glorious summer that felt far too short (why oh why does winter have to be so long!)

Anyway, as the story goes, a fisherman in Paris recently found a rare Brazilian fish called the Pacu in the River Seine. This scary looking fish (above) is no Nemo, I assure you and can weigh up to 25 kilos; trust me, it's not something I’d like to be trapped in a pond with any time soon. Furthermore, this sharp-toothed Piranha like fish is often called 'The Nutcracker' because, yes, you guessed it, it is known to go after men’s balls and make a meal out of them. (You’re holding them in fear, aren’t you?) According to experts, the fish is known to swim under unsuspecting individuals and take a nibble out of their family jewels, often ripping them off and swallowing them. No, I am not making this up, apparently this fish although predominantly a vegetarian, will make an exception for cajones. Scientists are not sure why, although being that this is affecting men (even in small numbers), I'm sure they will get to the bottom of it very soon. 

How the Pacu fish in question ended up in the River Seine is your typical display of humans not using their heads, or at least not thinking of their fellow male’s counterparts. Typically, when Pacu are discovered in unique places, i.e out of Brazil!, it is usually due to an owner of an exotic aquarium (you know, someone on MTV Cribs) having dumped them in a river, pond etc. when their fish has outgrown the aquarium. Cause, hell, why not just dump your pesky overgrown nut biting fish into a local pond and ignore the consequences.

When one was recently found in Denmark, a University Professor urged men countrywide to keep their pants on while swimming. Perhaps it’s just me, but encouraging men to keep their pants on in public seems like we’re stating the obvious. So all you men out there, just keep your clothes on when you’re outside whether being attacked by a wild fish or not. Okay? It's the polite thing to do.

The other thing that of course struck me about this story was who the heck is going to be crazy enough to swim in the River Seine? It’s not exactly why I take the Eurostar to Paris, I can tell you that much. A croissant and a legendary cup of coffee as I window shop down la rue du Faubourg St. Honore wishing I could afford everything...CHECK!! Swimming in a filthy river teaming with disease and fish that may mistake my sad little post childbirth boobs for men’s private parts..NO thank you.

Disturbing, eh?...Aren’t you glad I’m back. 

I was running in the park yesterday and passed a set of identical twin boys playing in the park. Their parents had dressed them - you guessed it - identically. Cause why allow your children their own separate identities as long as they’re under your control. Sorry, too much sarcasm for a Tuesday morning? I am thinking it’s abundantly clear that this is always something that has 'disturbed' me.

I shall give those the benefit of the doubt and look at this first from the perspective of ease. You’re a parent of twins; you’re doubly exhausted (in ways I can’t imagine) and when you shop you just pick up two of everything and throw your children in the outfits without a second thought. Of course my first kneejerk response to this is, it can’t be that difficult to throw a blue t-shirt on one and an orange one the other, can it? So that begs the question, why? Why do parents with identical twins insist on dressing them alike when it would appear hard enough to differentiate yourself when your sibling has the exact same face you do. Perhaps it is for the sheer ‘awww how cute’ factor of having two kids wearing the same outfits (this is totally dependent on the children having the same build, as one man's skinny jeans is another's jeggings nightmare). Then again, maybe it’s pure sadistic fun on the part of the parents to utterly confuse the public as to which child is which. 

I always thought being an identical twin would be a pretty challenging feat in itself. Yes there are advantages – and don’t you know I would work every angle if I were a twin. You could actually be in two places at once; you could take each other’s tests; scope out perspective dates; do things for each other the other did not want to do. Yes, it’s all steeped in mischievous behavior, but isn’t that the upside to having a person that looks exactly as you do? The other thing that would be pretty cool is that you would finally see what you looked like; yes, I realize we do have mirrors, but it’s altogether different than being out shopping and seeing yourself come towards yourself so you can really see what you look like three dimensionally.

The cons of course are that you spend your whole entire life telling people that you’re really Sally and not Sue; everyone is constantly staring and muttering how alike you guys look (um, yeah, we’re identical, morons), and you most likely spent your youth wearing the exact same outfits as your brother/sister did cause your parents thought it was really cute. In fact, I’m starting to feel an incredible amount of empathy for identical twins. If life wasn’t hard enough in which to carve out an identity, you have to prove that you are different than this person next to you that on the surface is downright identical. I suppose it now makes perfect sense when you meet twins and one has radically changed their appearance. "This is Sue, and that one over there with the eight piercings and the blue Mohawk is Sally. You got it now?!"

So next time you want to dress your kids in identical fashion, think of how incredibly annoying it is when you show up somewhere and some woman is wearing the exact same dress you are. At to make matters worse, she looks better in it than you do. That’ll make you think twice, won’t it.