Real men - or, the attack of the killer courgettes

On my way 'home' to the Queer Mountain Hotel the other day, I stopped off at this little BBQ stall for a courgette kebab.

Three hours later, the world was spinning, my head was exploding, I was unable even to stand up, far less walk in a straight line, and my stomach was having an emergency clear-out. I was, in short, dying (not for the first time this month).

40 minutes later I felt fine.

A clearer case of courgette poisoning there has never been.

Now I've heard it said that Real Men don't even eat courgettes, much less get poisoned by them.

Well, that means I suppose that either I'm not a Real Man, or they weren't Real Courgettes.

I make no comment.