No I'm not speaking Swahilly folks...the title is simply my attempt at Scotch Irish (or copying Philip's father who hails from Larne where they're all great Russ Abbot impersonators)....I digress...basically Philip and I are sick! We've got the dreaded 'bug' and it ain't pretty! Who, may I ask please came up with the idea of calling a nasty dose of vomiting and diarrhoea 'a bug'? A 'bug' conjours up the image of something cute, like a ladybird, instead of a dreaded stomach churning exercise in seeing who can bond with the toilet bowl the most and fastest, I might add (to date I have been the winner with the help of my slippers which practically take on an energy all of their own and help me to slide gracefully into the loo before chucking up with rather less elegance!?)
Even though the thought of spending three days in bed with my beloved sounds like a real treat I'd rather not be doing it as we simultaneously moan about how crap the other one is feeling. To be fair Philip has been much worse than me, however, as I am pregnant and have already had to put up with four and a half months of engaging in this ritual I think its grossly unfair and feel like I should get the most sympathy. On the other hand, though, Philip hasn't been broke in like I have and as he's a man (and we all know how rubbish they are at coping with sickness) maybe he just has the edge!
Wish us a speedy recovery friends and congratulate my daughter Una aka Florence Nightingale on doing a superb job of holding us all together and seeing to our every whim! She's wanted to be a nurse for as long as I can remember but is now making noises about changing direction....for the life of me...I can't think why?!
No comments:
Post a Comment