Magic pills saved me on wedding day, but no luck years later

LAST week, along with many other Gladstone locals, I caught a 24-hour stomach bug, which overstayed its welcome by five days.

And during a late night workout on the porcelain I recalled that the last time I experienced a virus this nasty was exactly 23 years ago: on our wedding day.

On that fateful 1990 morning, I woke up nice and early thanks to an all-orifices explosion.

By mid-morning my best man was having conniptions about my rapidly deteriorating condition, so he hustled me off to a chemist where I flopped across the counter and begged for a bullet between the eyes.

Just then a cheery woman called out, "Hi Greg! I'm really looking forward to your wedding today!"

I couldn't see who she was, but the astonished chemist asked: "You're getting married? When?"

"Four hours …" I mumbled, "Where's your dunny?"

The chemist dropped several pills into my mouth, rubbed my throat till I swallowed them, then propped me against the contraceptives shelf where I stood muttering incoherently and drooling on myself.

It's a wonder I wasn't arrested. But they worked! Half an hour later I cart wheeled out the door, with a free packet of contraceptives in my top pocket, courtesy of the smiling chemist.

I wish I knew the name of those pills, because the ones I took last week were useless.

Then Long Suffering Wife got crook too, sending our hopes for a honeymoon commemoration weekend at Agnes Water down the gurgler.

So, we spent our anniversary lolling around at home instead, and the highlight of the day was when I whispered to my wife: "Well, things haven't always worked out how we wanted, but I'll always be here Little Mate."

She must have heard me, because I could hear her crying through the toilet door.