POISONED BY THE FRENCH.

I'VE BEEN POISONED!!!!

Food Poisoning, in fact. Pretty sure it's the first time I've ever had it and must admit it was rather unpleasant an experience.

It came at the end of a lovely New Year's break in Cornwall with Fantastic Mrs Ox-to-be. I'm not going to be childish enough to name the offending restaurant but it was* The Napoleon Inn in Boscastle. Typical underhand tactics of The French.

This, dear readers Three, is one of the reasons for the extended absence of a blog since my Christmas sign-off. I was really ill. Vomit was involved. As was Watery Diarrhoea. As was child-like wimpering from the toilet as my good lady sat in the hotel room watching TV and wondering if she has made the right choice in life.

I don't think I've ever felt so desperately ill this decade.

What was overly annoying about this bout of food poisoning was that it was contracted the night before a lunchtime trip to Rick Stein's Emporium of Overpriced Seafood in Padstow. There he is look - taunting my salmonella-riddled self with his fishy fishes in what he believes to be an amusing way. Bastard.

Truth is, the food was pretty good. You'd expect so at £92 for two people mind you. My starter of Quenelles of Gurnard with Shellfish Sauce was simply marvellous. My main course (fillet of Sea Bass) was actually a little bland but the good lady had the most fabulous bouillabaisse she has ever eaten. But I couldn't really enjoy the food as I had started to feel queasy on arrival in Padstow. Shellfish sauce clearly didn't help the matter and by the time we got back to our hotel room in Boscastle that evening I was very, very ill and so began the viscous expulsions of the foul bacterium from my system.

It wasn't quite what Mrs Ox had expected of her last night in Cornshire. She had been hoping to be sat in an oak-beamed Inn, drinking hoppy ales, eating cornish pasties and listening to tales of sea monsters & storms from salty seadogs. Instead she had to make do with cornish pasty-flavour crisps, sat on the end of the bed watching Eastenders and listening to les vomeurs de Monsieur Ox. God bless her.

This frightful tango with terror didn't ruin the break away though. It was the perfect getaway for us both after a few weeks of house-moving and wedding planning and the hustle and bustle of life in pyow pyow Central London.

Back now though, and enjoying the misery of the weather this week. Ye fucking gads.


*Can't be 100% sure, obviously. Don't sue me if somehow this blog becomes widely-read and someone shows you the article please Mr Bonaparte.