Brandy and Water

Gastro-oesophageal reflux. Its AmazeBalls. For those of you that have yet to experience the wonders of acid reflux I have this to offer as a description: Remember Bruce Lee had his One Inch Punch? And remember how aggro the Gremlins were? Well it’s like the two had a love child, inside a volcano and are using your body as the embryo incubation vessel. Except it doesn’t bust your chest open nice and comfy like, it boils out of your face.

.I sometimes wish Ripley would bust the door down (dressed in those classic white undies) and just blow my head off – but sadly not – all I have is this seamen looking fluid that is flavoured as a seed. No pun intended there I hope Fireman Gav.  No amount of anger control, body positioning and milk engulfing is going to help this my friend. Oh no – its just you and your dissolving oesophagus.

Over the years I have been offered many recipes for mitigation. The one that seems to work, as explained to me by my Cousins from Tichnabruiach (yip spelt that way), is a pint of milk before bed and a pint as your first drink when you wake up. Just trying to get that pint down at 03:00 after a night out with them is quite tricky. Seeing as my mouth ran off with my nose to find someone less embarrassing to live on.

I wasn’t born this way you know. My little digestive system could process acidic bog water from Harmony Deep for the Smurfs at a stage. It all went pear at one Impala rally. 2003. Greg and I, in an effort to avert walking to the bottle store during the weekend, purchased a case of brandy. That partnered with a case of cokes. So it was 12 litres of coke and a little over 6 litres of the golden nectar. The weekend got a little out of hand. Greg was revving his Golf under the marquee, I was being all gangster with my 9mm tucked in my pants (pellet gun look alike hommie),  hitting on the Crew Captains lady and just generally assisting fellow bikers in the age old tradition of voluntary drowning by bottle.

Impala Rally stories for another time though. On this particular evening we were sitting outside our rooms and realised that the grass was wet. Thankfully it was just rain water – because I had run out of boxers and lost my pants the night before. The decision was made to refill our jugs and head off in search of a bench. Now the layout of this resort is on an incline that would make Stallone blush. The units that scatter along the contours are linked up by tiny rock paths that lead from home to home through the canopy of trees and eventually clear into a communal filed. Disguised by the darkness and armed with the agility of sobriety we pounced on the nearest bench. It struggled and tussled and split our drinks. Greg gave it a kick and I flipped it over onto its side. The battle was won. Now to carry our trophy back to our cave and get those jugs refilled. This bench, if I may expand, was massive. It seated 6 (rally men – not mincey Santon men) and was made from massive single cut logs…that grew from Iron ore I am sure. So with a heave, huff and a puff up the rickety cobbled pathway we went. Over trees and under bushes. Straight through bends and around the stairs. It took us well over an hour to get half way – Greg (the Graceful) ran up to refill our source of nutrients and we kept going to wet-bum redemption.

The sun is out. I’m on the floor. Soaking wet. Morning glory shining for all to admire with nothing but the sweet comfort of cold floor tiles for my pounding cerebellum. Our bench has been taken up by the inmates. Nothing out of the ordinary…yet…there is something. Something unfamiliar. Something brewing inside of me. Is it guilt? Do I feel guilty about something? No, that’s not it… its physically painful not an emotion. Its growing, expanding and rising up. What is this?  I scamper to the nearest kitchen sink, kicking empty coke bottles aside, a quench the flame inside of my throat. Its so painful. I dare not burp for the fear of losing my eyeballs. “Its acid reflux” says the comforting voice of Tant – “Here take one of these”. Antacid tablets are the reason my stomach valve doesn’t close properly anymore. You see all they do is neutralise the PH in your tummy which then just pisses it all off and comes back with a vengeance. I threw that pill down there armed with bubbles and a pint of water. He had no idea what was waiting for him. It was a set up. Bruce judo chopped him into bits with a flashing fury of fists and the Gremlins gobbled him up like a stoner on cupcakes. I send down reinforcements – this time with my accomplice – Brandy and Coke. Bam! Omph, Pow! No match. Bruce and the Fuzzy buggers, spurred on by insult, are now raging and begin to chew away at the prison door. Its go time – they are pissed – and I am going to die.

Nobody knows how I never dissolved entirely that day. The overdose of coke built up an acidic storm inside of my tummy that was no match for any remedy. I lost my ability to close the valve after the battle that day…but learnt a valuable life lesson that I would never have known otherwise.

Brandy and water tastes terrible.