Art

¡Art egyptian of Ra!

Last week, I developed a violent, sinister bout of hiccups that sounded like the devil had possessed my vocal cords. This was unfortunate, as I was due to go on the radio to talk about God (or, more accurately, the absence of him/her/it). I had hoped to sound rational and reassuring, but would now unexpectedly be retching up the bowels of Satan. This was not, I suspected, the scenario the producers had imagined when they booked me.

The Mephistophelean hiccups started at 7am, when my door buzzer sounded loudly. I fell out of bed, picked up the intercom, and opened my mouth to say hello – but instead, my throat made a noise reminiscent of the most sofa-clutching parts of horror movies. By the time I’d recovered enough to talk normally, the anonymous and probably traumatised caller had departed.