I have a weird memory of desperately needing to go to the toilet halfway across France. The coach stopped eventually, an unscheduled stop that made the driver quite grumpy; he was English but had total Gallic charm.
I walked into the hole in the floor toilet, retched and decided I could hold on for another couple of hours.
I'm not sure if this really happened. Truth is I'm not whiney about needing to go. If I tell you I need to, then I really need to (remember this for the future.)
But I do know with hindsight that I must already have been running a high temperature, which developed into the worst fever I've ever experienced, the only one to include hallucinations.
So maybe it was a fever-dream. If I'd really needed to go that badly I'd have squatted by the roadside.
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