Did I ever mention the Gout?

To be sure it’s a peculiarly English class of an ailment, the sort you’d be associating with them Kings and Queens like yer fat auld fella Henry the 8th. Yes, missus, him with the wives and the big auld paunch on him.

It has me fair afflicted the past while.

‘Tis the sort of thing that would creep up on you, and you only after drinking a bottle (or two) of wine every day for a fortnight. The sort of thing you might do around Christmas time, just to be a sociable sort of social person.

And the pain that does be in it! T’would have you reaching for the statue of St Martin and hurling it like a mad fella at the wall opposite. It would put you sideways, that pain. And don’t you be thinking that you could be slipping on the brogues either. Sure them fellas would be like some sort of mediaeval torture device, and you with the broken toe on ye!

“Willya stay away from the Port, ya auld eejit ya” said the darling wife, and she only after encouraging me with yet another artistically-guested set of dinner party invites. Practically drove me to that auld vintage.

Well there was no joy in the old drop after that, and I was as dry as the Kalahari for the best part of December. I know you do like a bit of Science, and the gist of it now is that you’d be eating them things called Purines which do be in fats, and in the grand effort to break them down the body would be after making loads of Uric acid. When you’re on the old sauce the liver has enough to be getting on with, and can’t be getting on at all with the urics, and off to the toe it makes its way for a grandsulk. Did you know that when you’re on the lash and you piss clear, it’s because the body isn’t taking any of the impurities out? Did ya know that now!

Anyways, I tried drinking Cherry juice. I tried drinking Organic Apple Cider Vinegar. I tried drinks with bicarbonate of soda. I even tried one with them all in at the same time. And it eventually went away.

And then I started drinking again on Dec 2oth. Each day went by, it was like a game of Russian Roulette. Would this be the bottle tonight? Would I be waking up in the morning with the old achy-breaky toe?

But it didn’t return.

Then everyone left to go back to the good homes that they came from and it was time to cut back on the drinking. One last bottle, says I, and it’s a new leaf on the morrow.

And on that morrow came the Gout.

Now the surprising thing for me was how did I get away with it for so long? There was no shortage of rich food. Tons of meat. Loads of red wine. How did I manage it? There was only one answer. On that fateful last day I had a sneaky packet of pork scratchings. Not them cheap ones, but the hardcore ones that come from the butcher’s shop. I think they make them from pigs slaughtered in the Black Country some time in the 19th Century. Think back now will you?  Yes, back before the last attack (a gout bout?) there was a bit of a pork scratching escapade too.

What’s the evidence? Pork is high in uric acidity. It’s pure fat. It’s deep-fried in more fat. It’s covered in salt (which also dehydrates you).

I better stay away from Eastern Europe and the Ukraine. There, they like a bit of pork fat covered in chocolate.

Thanks to Wikipedia for the image. Looking at one is as close as I dare get now.

Skream – Phat Head