Hmmmm. Interesting goings on in the Ladyshambles bathroom this morning.

Last night, I and a group of fabulously talented ex-colleagues and dear friends, known collectively for the sake of this blog as The Lab Rats, visited vegetarian gastric outpost Manna Restaurant.

You see, one of our party is a vegetarian. He is a bilker of burgers; he cold shoulders the cutlets. Steaks? Eschewed and unchewed. But since the last venue for our soiree was one of London’s finest meat emporiums, we thought it only fair to sample the delights of all things herbivore.

While the food was surprisingly good - the kitchen positively excelled itself with the organic fruit crumble - this morning it appears we’re all suffering from a force eight gale in the bowel and more burn than even Jane Fonda would recommend.

I’m afraid as lovely as this carnivore’s jaunt down the tofu track was, I’m heading back to commune with the cows.

It might take up to three days for a juicy slab of sirloin to wend its way through my colon, but quite frankly, when it comes to digestion, I’ll eat the hare and hitch a ride with the tortoise.