I used to get it as a child whilst at boarding school. Their remedy was the enforced wearing of the school cloak, an antacid and if all else failed a night in the sanitorium watched over by matron. Something was hurting then, as it is now. Something that I cannot digest or swallow. It needs attending to. I’ve writing to do so I won’t linger. I have to enter my fear of it. As we journeyed we talked, raised our voices and I cried. It all helped. A boil was temporarily lanced. I’ve asked him to find me something if he can. Not milk of magnesia, I said, anything but that. Too many memories – the taste lingers even now.

It was good. I felt some joy. Thank you for that.

Thank you.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.