“A pint? That’s very nearly an armful!”

Tony Hancock’s legendary line in The Blood Donor was “A pint? That’s very nearly an armful!”

(I really should find the DVD somewhere and watch it again.)

I referenced it the other day after going to the blood bank, and Ian noted that Tony Hancock was from Ian’s home town of Birmingham, and kindly snapped a picture of a memorial to Hancock.

Tony Hancock sculpture in Birmingham

A visit to the blood bank is always a good time to gather some vital stats, of course, which I’ll note below for my own archival purposes.

Height 181.5cm (with shoes on)
Weight 73.2kg (with shoes on)
(that makes my BMI 22.2, which appears to put me in the “normal” category for weight.)
Blood pressure 108/64
Haemoglobin was, I think, 163

Bowen Belly

I haven’t been well for the last couple of days.

It kicked-off on Monday night, when a slight stomach pain, which I tried to quell with my usual remedy, a glass of lemonade. Because burping helps. Really.

It didn’t help — instead it set off a flurry of up-chucking, joined later in the night from the other end. This kept going in regular instalments until about 3am, by which point I felt like I’d purged 20% of my own body weight. Not nice. I tossed and turned for the rest of the night.

Given I’d donated blood earlier on Monday, I rang up their hotline to alert them that all was not well. The night duty bloke, also called Daniel, sympathised and made a note on my file. I think he said they could still use the haemoglobin, but not the plasma. Or maybe it was the other way round.

Cup Day, which in the past few years has been spent away on holiday (not this year; it wasn’t a “pupil-free” day this year) was pretty miserable. The kids kept themselves busy, as I tried to catch-up on sleep and fluids, though my stomach was indicating that food might not be a sensible option just yet. By Wednesday morning everything seemed okay except the headache.

At least, as far as I could tell. It’d be nice if you got some definite feedback on this type of thing, but I suppose we’re not digital, so it just ain’t gonna happen. So we’ll have to put up with a headache and a pain in the belly, rather than “Error 407.5 — dodgy curry.”

Not that I know what caused it. We joke about this type of thing in my family as “Bowen Belly”, but its depressing regularity makes me wonder if there’s some undiagnosed intolerance that’s lurking there, rather than it being a bug of some kind.

Years ago I was tested for lactose intolerance. I honestly don’t recall what the result was, and I didn’t blog about it (it may have been pre-blog; shock horror). But I do recall trialling going off most dairy food for a while. I stopped when I realised I’m really not that keen on soy milk. Lactose intolerance is actually pretty common amongst those of Chinese origin (of which I am half).

Whether it’s that or something else, worth talking to the doctor about, I think.

(I just tried a cup of tea with soy milk. If this is what I have to do, it’ll take some getting used to.)