Apple Mactor

I am going to be properly sick by this evening but it's so worth it. I've eaten some apple today. This is a bad state of affairs for a woefully equipped temple like my body. I have to be quite careful with apple munching as they tend to really kill my digestive system in a less than pleasant manner.

I bloody love apples though - I love their crispy skin and juicy flesh and I love the way they make you feel a little bit cleaner when you've finished them... I love their shape, I love saying the word apple, I love rubbing the cool exterior against my cheek before I eat it.

So as soon as I see an apple, a civil war breaks out in my body.

My eyes are the treacherous part. They see the apple and then will do everything they can not to look directly at the apple. My brain is therefore duped into thinking that the squinty blue devils have seen the apple and chosen to be good. Brain almost writes Eyes a poem about what excellent self-restraint they have.

However, eyes are sneaky...and they have an evil assistant - Hand. Eyes have been looking the other way as a distraction technique while Hand does the dirty work and pops out to fetch the apple. Hand sneaks out under the cover of darkness and fetches the forbidden fruit, winding it back in to my proximity with dangerous, ninja like skills. The apple is now firmly within eating distance. Dangerous territory.

It's barely even worth talking to the muscles in my arm about leaving the apple a safe distance from my mouth. My mouth is already hanging open and so it's easier to put the apple in and deal with those consequences than to sit there like a slack jawed yokel for the rest of the day trying to explain to passers by why you look like a stroke victim re-enacting the juicier scenes from Genesis.

My gums try and act as the final defence to the insurgency of the green devil. They complain bitterly and try and signal to the controlling factions of my body that, perhaps, we should at least try and stop halfway through the apple - and we certainly shouldn't eat the pips. Absolutely no pips. It might even be worth me buying a kitsch sign that says 'No Pips', in the style of housewives who buy wooden plaques for their kitchens to passive aggresively bully their husbands.

But before I know it, apple has hit tummyville. And there is peace.

For about an hour. Then there is pain, pain that feels as though each of my ribs is cossack dancing through to my feet while my stomach acts as a bagpipe to my tone deaf intestines.

For the casual observer, it's an impressive... I get a 500 yard stare of numb shock as I try and stay very still. Staying still when I'm in pain is my tactic - I don't know why, perhaps it's a misguided attempt to fool the pain into thinking I've gone out without leaving a note to indicate my whereabouts. I tend to curl up a bit like a rotting hedgehog faced with a predator... and occasionally I whimper until the pain passes.

I've got about 38 minutes left before this pain comes and takes over my body. Meaning I've got about 38 minutes to prepare my work mates for not calling ambulances and or giving me mouth to mouth.

The only problem with today's ensuing pain is that I haven't eaten an apple. I've eaten 3 apples.