Cry me a shower

I guess there's always a first for everything and last night in the gym was one such occasion.

While doing sit-ups at the end of what had been a good work-out and whether because I'd drunk too much water or because I was pumping my stomach too hard or for whatever reason, I puked.

I realised what was about to happen when I got that horrible acidly taste and the sides of your jaw go all salivery.

I grabbed my gym towel and half-vomitted into that, thankfully it didn't go anywhere and then walked as fast as possible - not wanting to draw attention to myself - to the bathroom.

Making it to the disabled loo just in time, I was able to shut the door just before the whole lot came out. Thankfully it all went in the right direction and not onto the floor.

There was spit and other bits all down my gym T-shirt and on the towel and my shoes.

Sitting on the cold, tiled floor, it must have been the stink of sweat and floor chemicals that made me lurch again. One of those really painful ones where your stomach contracts and nothing comes out.

Suddenly I had that moment, I saw myself slumped on the floor in a public toilet, looking pathetic, ugly and alone and it made me start to cry. Perhaps because there was no-one there to rub my back.

Or perhaps because I thought "why the fuck am I doing this to myself?"

However, I gathered myself, walked to my locker - transfixed by the floor so nobody could see my bloodshot eyes - stripped and went and had a shower and cried a bit more.

It's funny how a seemingly ridiculous incident can trigger something that just sometimes forces the flood-gates open.

I was supposed to see Chantal, my Seth Efriken friend who I met yesterday at the airport, but thankfully she'd called ealier to cancel because she'd had a hectic day at work.

Instead I went home, dumped my stuff, avoided my housemates, went to straight bed, listening to Kate Bush I hugged my pillow and cried a bit more.

Last night I didn't feel like a superhero. Instead I felt like super-duper shit.

But it's ironic how good you feel the next morning after you've had a big fat "I feel so sorry for myself, boo hoo", self-indulged cry.

And then I got an e-mail from You Know Who You Are who accused me of being "crashingly middle class" which made me laugh because it's the insult I use to describe others.

It cheered me up no end, as did this picture which I think is really hot...

Okay, after all this heaviness I promise to make you laugh tomorrow. Or at least smile. Deal?

The picture above was taken off the blog of John Rutherford who's a director for Colt Video who make movies you would never watch in front of your mother. Unless you're Norman Bates.

Bobby's Dodgy Amazing Music Collection, CD #3

Yes, I had to be this.

When I listen to Kate Bush it's like she's singing just for me. Her music can be difficult to listen to and maybe she does deserve the nickname "Bonkers Bush" or "Alice in Wonderland" but to me she's amazing.

I've chosen the first side of Aerial because it's what I listened to last night.
In my collection, which numbers a few hundred, this CD is one of my most treasured. It's the only CD I've ever queued for outside a record shop to buy, on the morning it was released. (HMV outside Bond Street Tube station, 7 November 2005).

Favourite tracks: King of the Mountain (because it's a good pop song) and Joanni.
Least favourite: Pi and Mrs Bartolozzi