Saturday morning I woke up with a pain in my gullet the size of Canada. Something had been brewing for days and had culminated in a dizzy piece of shit-feeling awfulness.
I was to leave Vienna for Prague that morning, and made my way to the train station.
Nausea rose and I got to heaving horribly in the Hauptbahnhof jacks. Something wasn't right, and I went to the outside to take some air.
In the finish, seeing the bus for the airport proved too alluring, given my predicament.
"Screw Prague, there'll be again in it," I said to nobody at all.
450 euro and seven or eight hours later I was back on Charleville Road. The initial wave of sickness had passed to leave only the horrible feeling of regret that I hadn't stuck it out, or at least subjected myself to some foreign krankenhaus. Fuck it, though, it's all about forward, forward, forward.
I'm in Limerick now and getting seen to tomorrow. All things going well I'll resume my travels in some guise - there are still some dots on the map I simply have to stick a pin in.
That being said, I never bought into the fact that this was my "last chance to do this sort of thing" as some have said.
Life maps itself out differently for everyone, and once my choices remain my own I'm happy.
On to other matters. Yesterday I went to town to buy the third series of The US Office. That is some seriously funny shit right there.
It is for me the perfect modern sitcom, miles and miles superior to its English progenitor (because Ricky Gervais remains a smug little cunt. Don't like him.)
Anyway, I started watching it around 6.30pm yesterday. Twenty episodes later it was 5am and I was officially an out-of-work lunatic. The slapstick, Rainn Wilson's Dwight, the unbearable tension between Jim and Pam, THAT closing image from the last episode that made me damn near piss myself.
Fuck it, we're all friends here, there was a trickle.