There are things you don't want to do...

And getting quite violently ill in front of your publisher is one of them...

Let me tell you a story...

So last Thursday things were going well - too well. I did a day of signings around the M50 and managed to not feel at all sick. I was thirsty yes, but not at all sick.
I was delighted - absolutely over the moon. In fact it prompted me to do a little happy dance that my morning sickness was gone.
So that evening I get ready, straighten my hair, wear most flattering preggy dress, do make up. I'm picked up by lovely Poolbeg people who drive me to a lovely restaurant where I'm to meet the rest of the Poolbeg people and some lovely booksellers.
The restaurant looked lovely. (Although the menu referenced oysters which was never going to go down well).
So anyway I start to feel sick - like really sick. And a little faint. So I get a drink of water. I'll be grand, I tell myself and the lovely publisher lady is very concerned. I go to get some air and s comes and sits with me, like my mammy, and is very soothing and reassuring.
I just feel worse.
So in the end I get a lift back to the hotel, in the car of a lovely Poolbeg girl who has not long passed her test and is clearly in love with her car and terrified that I might chunder everywhere. She drives at about 5 miles per hour (exaggerated for creative licence) and is very considerately gentle at speed bumps.
I get to the hotel without so much as a goodbye and run, yes RUN, to my hotel room where I'm so violently ill I burst the blood vessels in my eyes.
I then lie, moaning on the bed, all night before driving the 200 miles home weeping with sheer embarrassment.
This was not the impression I was hoping to make.

Yet still, I'll laugh about it sometime I'm sure and it might even make it into a book