Check your bottles…
During the summer of 2007, I was part of a team that flew out to Bulgaria to do some decorating, the paint was so sloppy and thin, and some youth work, the children were friendly and welcoming. During these days, the weather was very hot and I often found myself running between those who were painting a mural outside and a water tankard inside, filling up cups of water for the team and I. Eventually, a couple of lovely people bought us all a bottle of water and wrote our names on them. That would’ve been alright, if the names didn’t wipe off due to sweaty palms. You see, as well as bottles being passed around there was also an unpleasant bout of V&D.
Around halfway into the trip I sipped from a bottle that, it transpired, wasn’t mine.
The result: A very upset stomach.
The first night I had the bug was exhausting. I shared a room with four other blokes and my bed was in the opposite corner of the room to the en-suite bathroom. For what felt like hours I shuttled backwards and forwards from the toilet, where my body expelled liquid in different ways, to the bed, where I changed boxers and tried to sleep. After five trips, I was out of fresh boxers. After six trips, I slumped on the bed. My face sunk into the pillows and I thought, ‘So, this is what it feels like to collapse.’
The next thing I know, it’s morning and my brother’s friend is whispering, ‘Dave, you’re naked.’
‘Dave, Ben’s at the door.’
I open my eyes and immediately see that what my brother’s friend had said was true. My white duvet draped over my private parts, acting as a modesty blanket. Whether someone had kindly positioned it I didn’t have any inclination of asking. Groggily, I turned my head and looked towards the door. My brother’s friend’s second statement was just as valid. There, in the doorway, stood Ben. He was a friendly giant of a man who was one of the youth leaders. Standing just behind his left shoulder was Mary, my brother’s girlfriend and, soon to be, fiancé.