Why I know what Elliot ate for breakfast (and related tales) Now I know what Elliot had for breakfast this morning.
The reason I know is because approximately halfway through the vicar's post-Eucharistic prayer, said breakfast sprayed out of said choirboy's mouth in semi-liquid form in every direction. I am guessing it was Weetabix. Could have been porridge, but then, lots of things look like porridge when they've been regurgitated.
He looked rather pale sitting outside the choir vestry afterwards, poor lad. I think it was the heat.
Brings back memories. My cousin stayed over one night when I was five, and in the morning we ate Rice Krispies, and as soon as he was done eating, he vomited the whole lot straight back into the bowl again. I distinctly remember it looking exactly the same the second time around as it did the first.
Why do we remember these things?
After the service today, a fellow chorister (an old schoolfriend) and I reminisced about the time we were out in the car with my mom and our two French friends (French school exchange -- those were the days), and one of them got feeling queasy on a roundabout, and proceeded to spray barf everywhere. Rather than just let it fall out, he had tried to cover his mouth with his hand, which only made it worse, because then it just started squirting fiercely out of the cracks between his fingers like an industrial jet-spray. My friend even remembered the exact roundabout we were on, so it was obviously a special moment that lived on in his consciousness, too. And here I thought it was just my twisted mind that I remembered the scene so vividly.
Anyway, regurgitated Rice Krispies and vomiting French schoolboys -- they were the images running through my mind like a flashback as in horror I watched Elliot unexpectedly produce the contents of this morning's breakfast bowl.
There was a point to this, I'm sure...
Aha, that was it.
I wanted to remind myself not to use the kneeler on the front choir stalls. It was covered in the damn stuff.
Dave
12:50:37 PM 
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