I was driving down from my villa this morning in search of breakfast at the nearest beach village when I realised I'd have to turn back for another poo. This, in itself, won't come as momentous news to anybody who experiences morning bowel movements. Which, all being well, is most people, but I'd already had three between getting up, showering and leaving the property. For the record, I have diverticular disease. This delightful piece of oversharing i s brought to you by the formation of small bulges in the wall of the colon, which has nothing to do with punctuation and everything to do with the passage of food and its by-products through the body. It's also hereditary, which explains why both my brother and my mother have it too; although not the fact that I was diagnosed years before either of them, despite being the youngest of us. Here comes the science bit: Who knew I'd be younger than my mother? What it means, in real life, is that I have to be ...
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