It’s 11am on a grey, rather chilly Wednesday morning. You’re at the ad agency, sipping water by a large glass window looking out over Victoria, waiting for a meeting to start. And then. The horror! You realise you’ve left your Gaviscon in your other bag.
The camera zooms out, blurring the surroundings & the violins do that one, long, single crescendo note signalling doom & detestation.
Only I’m not in a film. And there’s no violins. And this is the sorry state my life has become. Addicted to peppermint flavoured Gaviscon, not knowing how to get through the day without my next hit as what feels like a firey put of hell fills me chest & consumes me.
And they say pregnancy is a special time. Woe is me.